


Irish Problems

by BreitzbachBea



Series: Like Father Like Son [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate universe - Mafia, Canon LGBTQ Character, Gen, Human AU, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Mafia AU, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Romance, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreitzbachBea/pseuds/BreitzbachBea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The irish Mafioso Harry O'Connel is distressed - His business is almost ruined and his enemies are only waiting for him to break down. Luckily, his best friend got a solution - Asking another mafia boss for help! Of course Harry isn't very happy about having to trust somebody from their business, but when he meets Michele Vento, most important Mafioso of whole sicily, things get even more complicated - Because Vento wants a bit more from the Irish. While Michele's trying to get to Harry's heart through awfully many layers of british sarcasm, irish temperament and straight-ness, an english colleague is seizing the opportunity to get rid of both of them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peek

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER: While I do research for my stories, I want to explicitly state that this story does not represent the actual mafia. Organized crime is an issue that still affects and kills people and I am trying to not romanticise organized crime.  
>  I trust you, my reader, to keep fiction and reality apart.**
> 
> Every chapter consists of three scenes (chapter 1 and 2 being the exception)
> 
> The picture or rather cover of the story which I included in chapter 1 was made by my friend Nóra. You can find her on tumblr on Imadethedevildoit.tumblr.com.

  
  
“This is the most humiliating thing this bastard could ever do to me” the Irish spat.  
  
“This might be true, but you have to look on the bright side like me – I was never closer to you” the Sicilian behind his back responded and Harry grid his teeth in anger:  
  
“I swear to God ̶ and you are my witness – Arthur Kirkland is a dead man! When I’m out of this, I tell you ̶ “  
  
“Mind If I interrupt you, but we got a bigger problem” Michele said.  
  
“What?” he snarled.  
  
“The Saltwater will ruin my shoes.”  
  
Now he heard it too: Water that poured into the box.  
  
Harry moaned. 


	2. Irish Problems

The man who had bought that house almost a century ago had been displeased with how simple it was. Surely, it had been an entire house with three floors and a front yard, which had been much back then, and he had worked for it. Hard, too hard for a house like _this_ , although nobody would have believed him since he couldn’t have told anybody.

This hadn’t been Chicago and he hadn’t been Al Capone. It had been Dublin and his name had been Darragh O’Connel.

The first man who grew up in this house hadn’t minded that it had been a red brick one like all the others in the street. The door had been painted blue, just like the windowsills and it had looked really pretty this way. And although it had looked pretty this way, one day in the year after his father had passed away, Aaron O’Connel had decided to paint them green and planted ivy for it to grow on the facade.

And the ivy still entwined around the wooden trellis drilled into the bricks of the front, the windowsills were still green just like the door after Aaron had been gone for four years. His son didn’t mind the look of the house either; he actually did not care about it all. Harry O’Connel had far worse problems occupying his mind than how the ivy slowly started to grow over the window of his study.

“How did that happen?!” Harry thought out loud, tapping his fingers on the table. “Why can’t my life for once go in a good direction?! Why can’t this job for once not be _a total pain in the arse?!_ Why can’t something in this godforsaken country work for _just once_! The state’s a total catastrophe _and_ the organized crime. _How?!_ ”

Chewing on his lower lip, he looked out of the window and let the thoughts ramble on in his head.

Of course this job had meant trouble. Of course this job had meant work. Of course he hadn’t wanted to do it. And of course he couldn’t have said no to it. Mafia was not the ordinary family business. Mafia was a legacy, not just tradition. _Our thing_ , had his Scottish colleague once explained, _the first Sicilian Mafiosi called it our thing and still do_.

“I keep telling you to get help somewhere, Harry” Paddy said and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I can’t be helped in any way anymore but thanks for your concern for the poor sinner” he replied to his bodyguard.

The huge man leaning against the wall beside the window lifted his shoulders for a deep breath and let them drop again, an annoyed frown on his face but it faded quickly.

“You know what kind of help I am talking about. We need to find somebody on our level and we need to do it quickly.”

Harry looked upwards then he put one elbow on his desk and leant his face on his hand, continuing to stare at the cloudy sky outside.

“But how?” he asked. “I need connections for this and my only real connection is Gavin. We can’t just jump into this European mess and hope somebody wants to help us before someone else has already gobbled us up.”

“Did somebody say connections?” Charlie said, entering the room.

Harry looked to the door which Charlie just closed. Turning to him, he had the smug grin on his face that Harry knew for almost 24 years by now.

Right now, he was not exactly in the mood for it.

The other young Irishman kept grinning: “I just waited for the cue to make my entrance.”

“Wanker” Harry spit, way less amused than the following giggle from Charlie was, and started tapping his fingers again. “Connections, and? Charlie, who the hell did you find that doesn’t want to kill us? Because, aside from Gavin, pretty much everyone who hears I need help is just a wolf spotting the injured lamb, no matter how much sheep clothing they’ll wear.”

“Face the facts, pal,” Charlie gave back. “You’re an injured lamb both ways and we all know way to well of those English wolves that will get us sooner or later if we don’t do _anything_.”

Harry glared at his friend for a few seconds before a frustrated moan slipped from his lips and he buried his face in his hands. “I hate it when you’re right with that kind of crap,” he hissed quietly.

"Ah, but don't make your headache worse" the other man said and pulled a note out of his suit pocket. "I've already did ... things."

"Things? Charlie, it ended more than one time in a mess when you did ‘things’, what kind of things?" Paddy asked and Charlie looked a bit annoyed at him:

"It did _not_ end in a mess, old man, and the kind of things like asking for help."

"Tosser, don't do that shit without me" it came from Harry, who still had his face covered. “I’m still your boss, I decide what we’re going to do here, no matter how fucking right you are.”

"All you did recently was complaining and whining about everything, I think that pretty much tells us what kind of decisions you were and would be making - none. But anyways, _I_ " Charlie waved with the note, "am not only damn right here, but also have this nice phone number which could free us from all the stress. I asked around our informants a bit and a Sicilian colleague called Vento seems to have eyed at the north of Europe for quite a while.

“So I arranged a few _things_ ” he glared at Paddy, who buzzed out something along the lines of “We’ll see, Charlie”, before turning back to Harry:

“And now it’s up to you to call him.”

Harry had parted his finger at the “But anyways”, now putting down his hands completely:

“You only found out his number? You didn’t do anything else yet?”

“Nothing directly related to him, if you mean that” Charlie replied. “I know for sure he seeks for partners, not easily defeated prey. And I know that he is the number one in almost whole Sicily and one of the big European players despite his small territory – just like us. Well, minus the global players but pressing these little numbers on your phone could quickly change this.”

His smug grin turning into a frown and he took a closer look at the note. “Or this is number of the cute guy from the pub yesterday, I am honestly not so sure anymore. Would still quickly change something for _me_.”

“And we saw, Charlie” Paddy quietly commented with a smile while Harry groaned and reached out:

“Give me the fucking note, there is a 50/50 chance I’ll kick you either way, no matter who’s on the other end of the line.”  
  


* * *

 

“I can’t believe I am doing this, I can’t believe this Vento is doing this” Harry muttered and threw a stone into the shallow waves of Dublin’s harbour sitting on the edge of the dock while they waited for the Sicilian.

“You want to send somebody here? I thought we already had agreed on that I come to Sicily” Harry had answered confused yesterday when the man on the other end of the line had told him that. These phone calls had been easier said than done.

“Yes and it only took us three phone calls to agree on that.” The voice with the faint Italian accent had sounded friendly but not friendly enough to hide the sarcasm. “Our boss’ ways might seem strange but I can assure you, he has his reasons to send somebody beforehand.”

“I’d like to know those reasons” Harry had said displeased, having had the urge to put the phone away when he had heard the other man’s laughter. It had been irritatingly nasty.

“You’ll know them soon enough.”

“At least now they are the one in the lion’s den, not us” Paddy grunted. The younger one forgot about the calls and looked up at him. The Northern Irish, a big hunk of a man, really looked his age right now in the pale moonlight with the stubble on the rough face. Harry could recall a time when the dirty ginger hair hadn’t been that fair and the wrinkles hadn’t been that many. However, he could not recall many times where he hadn’t like to see this face in the last 24 years and a faint, resigned smile appeared on his before he looked in the water.

“But it’s like a bad detective novel! Meeting at the harbour at midnight. We even have full moon! One more cliché and I’m gonna throw up, I swear” he muttered again and threw another stone.

“Well, cliché doesn’t mean it’s a bad novel” Paddy said, earning a face from Harry that had a bugged out “Seriously” written in it. The older man only shrugged: “Just my share of life experience.”

A few minutes later, the little headset earphone in Harry’s ear started:

“Sir, somebody entered the 3 Branch Road South. Long coat, hat, frizzy hair. Darker skin, too, but I’m not sure. Seems to be our man.”

Harry smiled and got on his feet: “Indeed. Keep an eye on that guy, Foley.” A short “Sure, Sir” ended the conversation or at least switched to another channel since Paddy still talked to somebody else.

“Just stay there … Yes Foley, Christ, what are you so nervous?”

Harry couldn’t help grinning when he heard Paddy’s easy going tone with the newcomer.

“It is nothing, just keep an eye on your surroundings in case something suspicious happens. It’ll be alright, you do your job.”

Right after he stopped talking, Harry heard the buzzing noise of his headphone and Paddy nodded towards the large shadows the warehouses cast: “There he comes.”

Harry shoved his hands in his pocket and waited, trying to see what would come his way, but it was too dark to see anything. Yet he heard footsteps.

And finally a person appeared from the pitch-black.

The man was slender, but not too tall. Maybe one or two centimetres taller than Harry. Long coat, hat. The frizzy hair was brown and tied to a loose ponytail. His skin was tanned.

“Buona sera, signori” he said with a soft, but deep voice. Italian, no doubt.

“Good evening, sir. I hope your trip from Sicily over here wasn’t too troublesome” Harry answered with a faint, hopefully not too fake smile. The other man smiled back, lifting up the front brim of his hat.

His eyes were not lidded nor wide open and although it was still dark and the other was more than a metre away, Harry could make out the colour. It was some sort of very light brown, actually coming really close to dull gold. The fringe was side parted, a curl on the right side.

“Fortunately not.”

“Great to hear. Now, what’s your concern, Mister … ?”

The Sicilian didn’t pick up on it: “I am here to tell you when we’d like to meet you. There’s a flight this Sunday, 13.40. Flight 34. Booked for Callahan. I hope you can arrange that.”

“How could I say no when the flight’s already booked.”

“And all on the house, as we may add. We also have a hotel. Villa Igiea, three rooms booked for Callahan as well.” His smile was like the one of a salesman: “I’ll hope you like it, it’s one of the best we could find.”

“Your hospitality seems to know no boundaries, does it.”

“We aim to please” the Sicilian replied, tipping his hat. “And I am also here to inquire if there are any other eventualities you need to clear up now. I have to inform you that further information on where to meet in Palermo will be sent your way once you arrived there.”

“Well, I’m not too sure if this counts as eventuality but may I ask why your boss really sends somebody to come here? Only for folderol, that’s a tad suspicious, don’t you think?” Harry replied with another faint but definitely challenging smile.

The man looked over the harbour, over to the lights on the other side of it:

“He wanted to get a glimpse of what is the future surroundings for our potential cooperation are.” Then he smiled again at Harry: “I think he will like this island very much; it isn’t Sicily but it does look beautiful here as well.”

Harry wanted to laugh, yet just grinned instead: “I feel like I should reply with a ‘Thank you’ but that still are quite fishy reasons, aren’t they? So shallow.”

The other shrugged: “Who knows? Maybe they are, maybe it’s more important than you think Signore O’Connel. All I know is that they are true.”

He raised his arm and pulled his coat sleeve back a bit, revealing a watch.

“And I hate to be rude, but I didn’t plan on staying long here and should actually hurry back to the airport now.”

“Then I don’t want to hold you up, I wouldn’t like to be the guilty one when you miss your flight, Mister…”

He still didn’t know the other’s name.

The man smiled once more, turning around and raising one hand: “I wish you good night, Signori!”

_Fuck your flight_ Harry thought, calling: “Hey, Mister, you just one last question!”

The other stopped.

“Sí?”

“What’s your name?”

A second went by before he looked over his shoulder and grinned: “Vento, Signore.”

Like this, he disappeared into the shadows and Harry couldn’t stop staring at the point he had stood just a second ago.

“Are you kidding me?!” he yelled, but received no other answer than the receding footsteps.

A soft wind got up. The Irish’s eyes were still fixated on the pitch-black.

“This guy is fucking with me, isn’t he” Harry said in disbelief and annoyance.

“We’ll find out” Paddy replied calm and dry. “We’ll find out.”


	3. First Impressions

“I still can’t wrap my head around why!” Harry said more to himself by now but Charlie groaned nonetheless. “I refuse to believe that this is true!”  
Charlie motioned at his friend’s head as if he wanted to hit him with the phone in his hand. The cab driver had refused to drive them directly to the house they were looking for, so they had to walk down the pretty empty side road and look for it.

“I’ve asked around and only if all the informants are lying or your eyesight was pretty bad at night would mean that it wasn’t Vento. But if we trust in both, yes, the gold eyed bloke with the weird curl is definitely Vento.”

His eyes went back to his phone screen and Harry snorted angrily.

“It is unusual, but we will have to accept it for now. I don’t think a boss like him would let his subordinates joke like that” Paddy said to the younger one who only snorted again. “There’s not much we can do anyways – “

“Wait!” Charlie called, slapping Harry on the chest that he yelped and Paddy raised an eyebrow.  
Charlie looked up from his phone, eyes then rolling upwards for a few seconds while Harry cursed “What the fuck Charlie.”

His friend nodded: “There we are.”

Harry’s eyes wandered over the building in front of them. It was at least 40 years, if not older. Not as run down and decrepit as many of the others in the street but its best days were clearly over.

Harry raised one of his thick eyebrows: “Are you sure this is it?”

“The text message says second floor and this address and google maps says it is here, don’t argue with google maps, Frecky” Charlie replied and his friend quickly turned his head to glare at him. “Also, the cab driver asked like five times what we want in a shady area like this, that’s proof enough for me.”

“They are shady people, but a friendlier welcome would have been nicer” Paddy argued. “This Vento sure has strange approaches.”  
Harry looked at the door, made out of a metal frame and toned glass. As he pushed his sunglasses down he could see his reflection.

The messy hair was as neat as it could be. Clusters of a few of his thousand freckles had been getting more intense and were clearly visible.  
Harry decided he looked fine enough for a business meeting and took a step towards the door, wondering if he should ring or if the door was open – it actually wouldn’t have surprised him if it would come off its hinges when he touched it.

But it didn’t when he opened it and behind the door a large room awaited them, a single desk at the back of it, light shining through the windows on the left, chairs lined up beneath them and several doors on the right wall. The one in the middle was a double door – and it was open.

The walls were in a light blue and the black floor tiles looked pretty worn out.

Charlie, who, just like Paddy, had lowered his sunglasses, pushed them upwards again: “And I always thought Italians had a good fashion sense.”

Harry only rolled his eyes and stepped inside, the other two following.

“Lads, I wonder if he means American second floor or our second floor” Paddy said when they spotted that the double door was the entrance to the staircases. “Just remembered that.”

“We’ll find out, what’s the worst that could happen if we open the wrong door?” the younger bodyguard replied and followed his boss up the stairs, the older one shoving his hands in his suit pockets and giving back “A lot” before doing so as well.

The door to the first floor was locked so they went up another.

It wasn’t locked there and the corridor, lighted in a sick green light due to the lack of windows, lead to only one door and made Charlie reach for his glasses again:

“I prepared my eyes for a lot of sun, but not for horrible locations!”

“How about you prepare your mouth for shutting the fuck up, Charlie!” Harry snarled and the other, surprisingly enough, replied nothing so he nodded and whispered “There you go” before walking towards the door, grabbing the doorknob -

He stopped, hand hovering over the round brazen knob.

_Do I wait until somebody calls me in? Could wait forever if this is the wrong room. And if it’s the right then still what? Do I have to make myself known? Dammit Vento, can’t you just have a normal office with a damn secretary or something?!_

“Just come in, Signore O’Connel. I won’t bite you.”

Charlie snickered and Harry rolled his eyes.

_Fuck you, too, Vento._

He opened the door and stepped in.

In the room was nothing but a small plastic table and two chairs and on one of them sat the man from the harbour, Harry immediately recognized his face. That the same overly confident, mysterious smile was part of it made it easier.

His legs lay crossed on the table, his hands lay folded on his stomach and left and right of him stand two men, wearing black suits just like him and a bored expression on their faces.

He put his legs from the table and sat up straight, opening his arms and widening his smile:

“Buondì Signori! Excuse the circumstances of our meeting, but due to some recent incident I had no other option than these rather sparse facilities.”

Harry pulled the other chair back and sat down, Vento responding with a cocked eyebrow but nothing else.

“Of course.” The Irish didn’t wonder if it was a false pretence why he was here or what the incident was if it was true after all. He didn’t want to know either way. “The surroundings don’t matter in the end, do they?”

A small smile wandered onto his face again: “Of course, Signore O’Connel. But before we start, let me introduce my partners here ̶ the Signori Bontade.”

The two men didn’t say anything, only lowered their sunglasses. It was so synchronously that it made Harry’s heart skip a beat. _Like puppets_ , he thought as Vento carried on:

“My guards and loyal helpers.”

“Ah” was all Harry could get out before clearing his throat. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all ours” they said in unison once more with a grin this time before sharing a look. Their features softened, looking impish and Harry lost any bad feeling he had about them before.

“Or all yours?” the one to the left asked.

“We always mix it up” the right one explained.

Vento put a hand up; the smile on his face was gone: “That’s enough you two.”

They pushed their sunglasses back on, but the puppet effect was as gone as their displayed boredom.

“My company can introduce themselves” Harry said, way more confident than before.

A second passed before the Irish could hear his best friend and the cocky grin in his voice:

“The name’s Higgins. Pleased to meet you as well.”

Paddy’s heavy voice was probably the only one who sounded as professional as the situation was requiring it: “I’m O’Neill.” After barely a break: “Likewise.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Signori” Vento said, eyes on the two, before he turned back to Harry:

“After all the formalities it’s time we start business, don’t you agree Signore O’Connel?”

“Definitely. I’ve heard you're looking for partners?”

“Exactly.”

“And I am looking for one as well, this sounds great already.”

Vento chuckled and Harry’s smile froze for a second.

“It does” the Sicilian answered. “And what makes it sound even better is that I am able to help you with your problems.”

Harry’s answer was quiet, but still perfectly audible in the small room:

“Do you.”

“I have what you need and it comes with little conditions. Almost none, actually.”

“You don’t know what I need better than I do myself.”

“Let me make a presumably accurate guess – money.”

Harry knew that he wasn’t pulling a very professional face. Pouting was never professional unless you were a child movie star.

“An elephant is small, almost nothing compared to a mountain” the Irishman gave back after he regained his composure, voice not only reserved but even slightly hostile. “What are those little conditions?”

“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, Signore O’Connel. It’s just the usual loan talk.”

“The usual loan talk already has enough trap and back doors” Harry responded. “Besides, I am looking for a partner, not for a loaner.”

Vento just kept smiling undeterred: “Well then, let’s take a step back and you tell me what you are looking for in a partner.”

“Connections” the Irish responded. “A back up, somebody to work with. Financial support, all well but this isn’t why I’m here.”

Something was seething deep down inside of him.

_We have barely talked, calm down. Play it low. Be professional._

“I am looking for somebody who wants to cooperate.”

“So do I, Signore” Vento gave back. “But I think that you can’t say no to a loaner right now, do you?”

It seethed. He still couldn’t exactly name what it was, but it was only getting worse.

“I can do whatever I want and one of those things is saying no to this loaner bullcrap.”

He heard Paddy sigh and saw Vento tilting his head with a questioning look.

Even if it took his voice a few seconds to get as steady as before, he carried on:

“I mean, I can change my mind if you tell me how your financial support looks like but I am pretty sure it won’t really change something.”

“How can you be so sure of it? Besides – I wouldn’t bite the hand that wants to feed you, Signore O’Connel.”

“I will bite every hand that wants to put me on a leash.”

The Sicilian frowned but whatever had seethed inside of Harry, it had reached the surface and burned away most of his tact.

“I don’t want a loan, I don’t want to owe anybody money. I don’t want to be bought. I won’t end up as outpost for you to gain more territory.”

A short sparkle appeared in the eyes of the Sicilian, only for one second, but Harry felt uncomfortable immediately.

“And that all because I offered you help? You sure got a short fuse, don’t you Signore O’Connel.”

Harry’s lips twitched, he wanted to grind his teeth, he wanted to shout, he wanted to slap himself for letting his temper get the best of him. And most of all, he wanted to slap the Sicilian.

“Apologies” he instead snarled. “But I don’t think that we will reach an agreement with this approach.”

“Apparently not. We might be able to find a better one if we could talk a bit more freely.”

“A bit more freely?”

“Just the two of us. A short talk in private.”

“What for?”

“Like I said – to talk more freely. Conversations like that are usually way more productive.”

The sly small smile was back. The one that said absolutely nothing about you – except that you were sure of having the upper hand: “Or do you have any objections?”

Synchronously, his bodyguards leant down to him and said something in Italian before Harry got the chance to reply.

Instead he took the opportunity to turn around, his bodyguards also leaning down to him.

“Can you hear what they are talking about?” he whispered to Charlie who looked over to the three.

“I have no idea what he’s playing at but he gets more suspicious any second” Paddy meanwhile muttered and Harry nodded.

“Your opinion on his idea?”

“No clue, he gains nothing from separating us. If he hopes to make you uncertain – “

“Then he’s mistaken.”

The knowing smile in Paddy’s face only made him more self-confident.

“I can’t understand much, but it seems that the Bontades are also clueless” Charlie reported quietly.

Vento shrugged and gestured towards his bodyguards: “Cosi va il mondo.”

“And now he said ‘That’s life’” was Charlie’s final comment before everyone returned to their former position.

“Well, now that we have cleared things up, what do you say?”

It was quiet in the room before Harry grinned:

“We agree with your proposal. Let’s talk, you and I.”

Vento smiled victoriously.  
  


* * *

 

“Fine. They’re gone” Harry said after Charlie and Paddy as well as the Bontades had left. He noticed how alike they even moved. They had to be twins.

“Sí. Now we’re alone” the other man said and silence ensued.

_Did I involuntarily sign up for a lousy skit?_

“Free to talk without having to worry what anybody else will think.”

“You still should worry what I think of what you’re about to say” Harry retorted and Vento chuckled. It sounded exactly like one would have expected it from his rich, smooth voice.

“That’s true, of course. But you don’t really care much about what I think of you, do you?”

“My poker face is not the best, I admit” he gave back with another grin.

He hoped Vento could not tell a pissed off smile from the self-confident he had shown before.

“No, nor is your word choice at times, it seems” Vento said and stood up, hands on the table. A faint smile on his lips and this sparkle in his eyes again, he carried on: “You’re just saying what comes to mind when it bothers you too much, Signore O’Connel.”

“What can I say, I am straight forward” Harry gave back and Vento’s smile grew wider:

“I hope that is the only straight you are, Signore O’Connel.”

Harry frowned at the comment while the other slowly walked around the table.

He cleared his throat: “Scusi. But I really have to say you have taken my interest in you to a whole new level.”

“We are alone so we can talk about business, not that you make me some other immoral offers.”

“It’s about immoral things either way” Vento replied still grinning and took another few, slow steps towards Harry. “You seem extraordinary, truly one of a kind in our business.”

“Sweet talk” Harry snorted and Michele chuckled once more:

“You can take my words without a grain of salt, Signore O’Connel.”

“Of course, if _you_ say so.”

Vento cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head: “You are really not like one of the others.”

“Nobody ever gave you as good as you got?”

He grinned once more and the fact that Harry had to look up to him now made the expression almost sinister.

And yet, the Sicilian still came across as charming with it. Faked or natural, he didn’t know, but the smile suited him. As bespoken as his suit.

“Not in that way.” He had toned it down but still looked joyful: “Everybody’s so guileful if they want something, no one tried getting what they want with …”

“Without kissing your arse?”

“With such determination.”

He giggled: “And without kissing my ass, yes. You and your temper is something that I just can’t help but be drawn to you.”

“So now I am the one getting my arse kissed until I say yes. It’s not going to work, Mister Vento.”

He took another two steps towards him, and Harry wondered if he had even planned this little walk.

“By no means.”

Standing beside his chair now, the Irish had to lean his head back to look at him now. The small smirk on his lips made him seem even more superior.

_Stop looking down on me, you bastard._

Harry’s fingers started to tap on the armrest.

Vento took a step behind Harry as well as putting his hands on his shoulders. For a second, a train of thought rushed through Harry’s head as he cringed.

_A predator circling its prey, always in great posture, a vulture finally putting its claws into its target –_

Vento interrupted him: “I felt you cringing. Scared of me, Signore O’Connel?”

“As if” he hissed. “But would you be so nice to tell me why you put your hands on me?”

The Sicilian leant down to him: “To emphasise my following point, Signore O’Connel. Because you as a person, not business partner, have also sparked my interest. With your bold attitude …”

Harry cringed again when he chuckled, right next to his ear. Vento moved on with his right hand, sliding down to his chest:

“And your handsome face. Truly, some sort of untypical sort of beauty, but that just makes it all the better.”

_Immoral offers my arse, I am not your damn tart!_

“May I know the full name of the man who clouded my mind like that?”

Harry grabbed the arm on his right chest and his tone was almost bored unlike his firm grip:

“Alright pal, the only one who needs my full name is the police when they ask who broke your arm. Or you de-cloud your damn head and get your hands off me.”

Vento straightened up: “Okay, I got it. Apologies – I still need you to let go of my arm …?”

The last word was weirdly drawn out and Harry bothered to look upwards at him.

Vento was still looking amused by the situation and Harry had half a mind to squeeze his arm until it left a bruise: “What?”

“I’d still really like to know your first name. I mean, if we are holding hands already – “

The sentence ended not with a period but with a yelp when the Irish gave his arm a strong tug before letting go.

“It’s Harry before you annoy me any further.”

“What a lovely name.”

Vento took a step to stand beside him and leant down again.

Harry hadn’t seen the golden eyes up this close yet but he had to say that even when lidded, they were a unique sight.

“Mine is Michele since we are on first name terms.”

“We aren’t” he replied when the other straightened up. “You wanted to know it because you had to flirt with me, not because it had anything to do with business.”

He grinned, sad that Michele showed no reaction to it: “And we are here to do business, right?”

“Of course, bello.”

“Bello?”

“A term of endearment – meaning handsome, beautiful one.”

He grinned and it clearly made Harry show an reaction: “Or are those kind of things also forbidden, Signore O’Connel?”

“If you say those kind of things while the others are around then you can say arrivederci to your bloody arm.”

Michele laughed for a second, laughed loudly, before clearing his throat and sitting down:

“My, how I love your fiery temperament already, bello!”

Harry gnashed his teeth and his fingers dug into the chair’s armrests.

“This wasn’t to talk about business from the start, am I right?”

Michele frowned but still smiled on:

“The entire trip or this little private talk? To both I must say that you are wrong. I don’t mix private life and work – at least not in that way. No, Signore – Let’s talk about business.”  
  


* * *

 

“So this guy wants to get into my pants and _that_ makes _me_ wanting to get into the next plane to Dublin” Harry ended his report about his private talk with Vento to Charlie and Paddy, the three being on their way to their hotel.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind” Charlie hummed and Paddy just rolled his eyes about that comment but Harry glared at his friend, who stared back grinning: “What. Yeah, I know that’d be bloody unprofessional, but have you seen that man? I mean,” he shrugged, “I know I wouldn’t pass that chance.”

“You might have missed the point, Chaaarles” Harry started and the other cringed upon hearing his ‘real’ name before throwing a hate filled look at him, who ignored it:

“As if I’d care right now that it is unprofessional, the fact that I’m not gay like you could be a bit more of a reason to not shag a man, don’t you think so, too?”

“Wait, if you’d be queer you’d do him?”

“I swear to god Charlie!”

The other only laughed: “But really, think a bit more outside the box, not so _straight_ forward, Frecky!”

Harry kept staring at him, now mouth tightly pressed shut and a scowl in his eyes.

“I refuse to laugh but that was a nice pun.”

“Thank you.”

“But seriously Harry, don’t think too much about it at all” Paddy joined the conversation. “He said you should come up with a good offer so let’s focus on that instead, okay blokes?”

Harry tilted his head to the side, looking upwards before he shrugged and nodded.

After only walking few metres however, he stopped.

“Do you know what I just realised” he said in a dry tone.

“That we barely got something that Vento would consider a good offer?” Charlie replied in the same voice.

“Damn right. Or rather, I’m afraid that’s the case we got right now.”

Paddy rubbed his chin: “Hm, the most of the credits are still going well.”

Harry looked at him: “Well enough for Vento?”

“Good enough to call it a security, that’s for sure. Besides, we just have to show that we’re lying level with him. Gotta show him some Irish fighting spirit.”

Harry grinned and cracked his knuckles: “Oh, I’ve got plenty of that.”

“I keep saying that if Frecky would have lived back in 1919 our independence would have been a one-man army matter” Charlie said and the others laughed.

“Damn right” Paddy said with a broad smile. “And since we eat Englishman for breakfast we should only worry about what to make out of those Sicilians.”

While Harry chewed on his bottom lip, Charlie sounded as if he was about to puke, causing only Paddy to look at him questioning.

“I’m sorry, I threw up a little in my mouth at the thought of eating Robert.”

The older man laughed once more, patting his back that Charlie stumbled a step forwards: “Don’t take things to literal lad, sometimes it’s shite.”

“But sometimes it’s incredible funny” Charlie replied and Paddy laughed quietly once more:

“You say it, but I’d never eat any of them, not if my life would depend on it. They must give you stomach cramps anyways.”

Even Harry laughed this time before sighing:

“Let’s just get to the hotel and sort things out there. I am tired and need to think about all of this.”

He nestled with his suit jacket and hissed “And get me out of this infected suit” before starting to walk again, Paddy and Charlie looking at each other for a second before they followed.

“And if we don’t come up with something good soon, you just give him the runaround” Charlie suggested with a wink which was answered by Harry through a dumbfounded stare before he turned to Paddy: “Can you believe that guy?!”

But much to his dismay, the older man looked like he was actually considering it as well.

“You can’t be serious!” he hissed, the other tilting his head and scratching his chin again:

“According to what you told us, Vento _did_ say that he wanted to get closer to you, right? So, just playing along a little – “

“ – play hard to get Frecky, that’ll work great for us –“

“ – is an idea we should indeed keep in mind as an emergency plan.”

“Okay, okay, I just want to mention something at that point – beside you telling me that I shouldn’t worry too much about it at all” Harry announced, one hand raised with pointed index finger, taking a deep breath – before he rounded Paddy up:

“None of you wankers, be it you, dad or Gavin told me that ‘Fuck a lad’ would be something I’d have to face in this bloody business!”

Paddy groaned while Charlie snorted with the laughter he so desperately tried to hold back.

“We never said ‘Fuck Vento’” he snickered. “Yeah, I said I’d do it but _that_ was not our Back Up plan – Which it totally should be though, by the way.”

“And to be honest Harry, this bloody business isn’t just doing illegal things like money laundering or contract murder, sometimes you have to do the really nasty stuff and get along with people you’d rather punch in the face” was Paddy’s tired share.

Harry was so glad when he saw the hotel, because now he could finally get a rest.

“Alright, but to be clear – _I_ am _not_ the offer we are going to make Vento.”

He slapped his own bottom: “This sorry arse is not for sale.”

“Okay, please, you won, I’ll take one for the team.”

“CHARLES!”

“Frecky!”

“Lads, would you please stop shouting?” Paddy said, paying a closer look to the metal latters spelling “Villa Igiea Palermo” beside one of the gates to the hotel. “It’s a five star hotel after all.”

He tilted his head, looking at the building. It looked like an Arabian fort.

“Well, Frecky started.”

“Oh shut the fuck up your Gayesty, you’re one to talk.”

“Oh dear lord” Paddy simply muttered, entering the hotel grounds. “This is just a _great_ start for this mission.”


	4. Deep Connections

It was early in the morning and the sun shone through the tall window of Michele Vento’s study.

There were only two rooms like that in this house, which the twins liked to call a mansion, and they had never seen the one upstairs.

You couldn’t say they hadn’t tried various times though. It was always locked, the tall window shuttered tightly.

And if they found a way to go around this, Michele had showed up every single time, it was almost creepy. They still could remember it clearly.

That one time with the ladder …

_“You said you’d be in town until midnight!”_

_“You said you would keep out of mischief! Get off that ladder immediately, you two!”_

Or when they had tried it from inside…

_“Marco, Lorenzo, you can practise your lock picking skills with any door but this.”_

_“It d-didn’t work anyways, big brother …”_

But when Marco whispered “Il padrino is acting suspicious lately” into his brother’s ear and got a “He surely is” from Lorenzo in the same quiet tone as response they meant it different. Michele didn’t fit into the norm – but so did what he was doing lately. Didn’t fit into _his_ norm.

Truth to be spoken, you could have said the first one about the twins as well.

Not only did they share their tanned skin, their short, dark brown curls and amber eyes, but also their behaviour, the way they moved and talked; Even Michele still struggled to keep them apart.

But they weren’t acting as suspicious as him right now.

“Should we ask?” Marco whispered again.

“Or should we not?” his brother murmured.

“Stop the mumbling you two” Michele started speaking without any warning and without turning towards them, causing the twins to cringe. “Tell me what you want.”

“Sure! We just wondered, because-“ Marco started.

“- you were acting strange lately. We mean, since yesterday” Lorenzo continued.

Michele stopped adjusting his tie in front of the mirror and looked at them, one eyebrow raised.

The twins took a deep breath.

Though they knew him for almost 8 years now, they sometimes still couldn’t figure him out.

Was he annoyed?

Was he curious?

They guessed curious.

“Since yesterday?” he asked in a tone as if he was not getting the idea.

“To be exactly, since yesterday afternoon” Lorenzo added. _Do you really don’t know, Michele?_

“Since yesterday afternoon after we met the … Irish” Marco corrected. _Or are you playing games here?_

“I see, I see … and in which way I’m acting strange?” Michele asked in the same tone again and the twins had to sigh almost silently.

“Well, you’re … talking a lot about Signore O’Connel …” Marco said and looked away, scratching his head.

“Well, he is a client, why shouldn’t I talk about him?” Michele asked and grabbed his blazer, putting it on.

“It’s just … you’re talking about him in … a non-business-level manner” Lorenzo mentioned and looked away, scratching his head.

Michele looked at them and smirked shortly: “Oh, you mean _that_. Is that so surprising? I talk like that about a lot of people who come to me on business-level.”

“Well” they said in sync. “Yes.”

“And that I am flirting with them isn’t so new either.”

“Yeah but if they reject you, you’re fine and leave them alone. I mean, if they meet you on business-level” Marco said a bit resentful.

“But in that case you don’t let go of the idea to seduce this redhead. And we just don’t get it!” Lorenzo stated.

“Especially when he rejected you rudely like that!” both stressed.

Michele looked upwards and sighed before he turned to them with a patient smile: “Marco, Lorenzo, hold up right there. First – he didn’t reject me rudely. He was rude but didn’t reject me once and for all. Second – that’s the point in it. Well, that and his cute face.”

They looked at each other while Michele muttered something with “eyebrows” to himself, having the same thoughts: _Il padrino got to be kidding us. He got to be goddamn kidding us._

Marco: “See, Michele, we would get this if he’d be a beautiful young woman, you know, sicilian and hot temper!”

“He is hot tempered, trust me” Michele said. “He’s actually a bit more than hot tempered.”

Lorenzo: “Or a handsome guy! Someone who’s more like us two!”

“Pretty vain, aren’t you?” Michele joked and they snickered. “Do I have to repeat that he’s handsome? In his own flawed, cute Irish way of course. Why shouldn’t I want to at least give it a serious try?”

“Why should you?!” Marco said, taking his talking-gestures to a new level and earned an exhausted sigh by their older brother.

“It’s not worth it, seriously” Lorenzo added and Michele almost groaned.

“Could you please tell me at least why it isn’t worth it, Signori?” he asked.

“This is some business affair, not someone you see at the bar in the evening! We know that you like to flirt and we know you’re pretty persistent if you found somebody willing to do this playful back and forth. But with the redhead, you want to _make_ him” Lorenzo explained.

“What makes this O’Connel so special in every single way, Michele? You’re so … so damn …” Marco looked for a word, but his boss did this for him:

“Fixed on him?” it came from Michele, voice and eyes so cold that the twins had to share a surprised look from the corner of their eyes. “Obsessed? Or what are you trying to frame me for?”

“Nothing!” they shouted. “Michele, we are just – “

“Shht.”

He looked back at the mirror:

“Yeah. I might be acting strange with this one. He’s here for business, he comes to me like all these poor sinners seeking for help, but first of all, he is so much higher ranked than all those others and second … yeah, secondly I am not making him. This is a back and forth already, a really currish one, yes. But it’s so much fun!” He grinned absentminded: “You know what he does? He interests me.”

“What is so interesting about him?” Marco asked, completely helpless. “Those monstrosities he probably calls eyebrows?”

“He’s just some leprechaun with a bad temper!” Lorenzo said exasperatedly.

“Wrong, signori. This guy has something like … I really don’t know it. But there’s something more, there’s some fire in those green eyes. And I’m planning to burn myself while playing with it before I put it out.”

He adjusted his blazer one last time before smiling at them: “Just trust me, will you?”

After a break of silence he added: “That was a serious question. Will you just trust me with this one?”

He smiled at them and they shared a look of uncertainness before replying: “Alright Michele – Do as you think of it as necessary.”

“I knew you’d understand” he said. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m away.”

Marco: “Never!”

Lorenzo: “How could we!”

He simply smiled once more, added a “I mean it” and was out of the room.

“We’re 20!” Lorenzo called after him.

“Not 2!” Marco backed his brother.

The only answer was laughter.

“Il padrino must be gone completely nuts!” Marco moaned a little later and let himself fall onto the couch.

“Sí! And I hope this redhead is worth it, whatever will happen…” his brother murmured, hopping on the desk.  
  


* * *

 

Harry woke up when the sun shone through the window of the room right on his bed. After opening his eyes and turning towards the sun, he sneezed and blinked several times.

“The fuck is that big yellow thing in the sky!” he shouted huskily and stretched, getting up and walking over to the window. It was a tall one, white curtains letting the light through but blocking a clear view on the world outside.

Yesterday he hadn’t been curious what he could see from here, too busy talking with the others, trying to come up with a plan and most importantly, trying to forget about the unfortunate meeting with Michele.

But when he pulled the curtains aside – very rough admittedly – to glare at the sun, he almost felt himself warming towards the Sicilian just for picking this hotel. He wondered when it was the last time he had seen water so blue and glistening like the one in the harbour right in front of his eyes. Yachts were seesawing on the water, palm trees gently rocking back and forth due to the wind.

“Now that’s what I call priceless …” he said to himself, almost sticking his face to the pane to get a better look at the other coasts of the bay, mentally adding _It might really is, I can guess what this must have cost._

The light orange colour of most of the houses shone bright and he didn’t know where to stare first. The lack of darkly coloured buildings made the entire city seem like sunshine. Down here it was a huge part of the life and he couldn’t mind the blinding sunlight anymore.

His mobile phone rang from somewhere beside the bed, interrupting his admiration for Palermo’s harbour and philosophising about weather and culture.

“I’m there in a second, goddammit” he cursed and walked back, grabbing it, barely paying attention to the caller ID.

“Hello?” he answered with a pissed voice.

“Good morning, Mister Grumpy and I-don’t-bother-to-tell-other-people-that-I’m-still-alive” the voice on the other side of the call answered, female and sarcastic in tone.

“Soph!” Harry said surprised.

“Yes, I! Your little sister who is actually worried about you idiot!” Sophie O’Connel gave back upset. “Come on! Just one little call after you arrived down there would have been enough!”

“Oh god Soph, I somehow completely forgot that you could be worried!” he laughed.

“But I am, you tosser! How can I be _not_ worried?!” she spat angrily.

“I could burn down our house because of a cooking accident, grill myself that I’m fit for the hospital and all you would ask would be ‘Are you still eating this?’”

“First of, we both know that what you cook isn’t edible in first place, second the scenario works vice versa as well and third – this would be something different!”

“I am just traveling, the only thing that could happen here in Italy is that somebody steals my wallet. Seriously, don’t worry Sophie, if there’s no shit to worry about.”

“Are you kidding me? … Seriously, brother, are you frickin’ trying to kid me?! You aren’t just traveling, you are doing your damn job and this damn job is what killed dad.”

Now it grew silent for a few seconds on each sides of the phone.

“Soph, please. Not that topic again. You worry way too much” Harry sighed quietly.

“No, I don’t!” Sophie snapped at him, her voice yet steady. “I don’t worry too much! I cannot worry too much, git!”

It annoyed the living daylights out of the Irish that his sister was right or even if she was not, he could say nothing against her words, nothing to make her anxiety go away. He couldn’t help at all.

“Sophie, I swear, I am promising you that I will return home alive. In one piece and not toxicated.”

She snickered at his easy-going tone, but still sounded worried and tired when she replied:

“Scout’s honour?”

“Scout’s honour. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

None of them said a word for a few seconds before Sophie asked, now way more her carefree self:

“Are the other guys okay, too?”

“Well, Charlie’s a bloody annoying idiot and Paddy’s an old man done with both of us, so yes.”

“Other people would say ‘things as usual’.”

“Am I other people Soph.”

“No, _you_ are Frecky.”

“Oh goddammit, _now_ you can worry for Charlie. This bloody nickname…”

“It’s a nice one. It suits you.”

“It’s not a nice one and we both have the same amount of freckles, but you are called ‘sheep’ and I am _Frecky_. You’re a perfect animal and _I’m_ the freckled arsehole!”

“You _are_ a freckled arsehole!”

“That’s true but beside the point!”

“Then stop complaining!” She laughed. “When will you be back?”

“Soon. After I either have a deal with a certain guy or have beaten him up like I do with others in a bar fight. And believe me, the second one is definitely going to happen first.”

She replied again with laughter: “Nice to know. But please don’t get into trouble because of that.”

Harry smiled: “When did I ever get in trouble at work?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but I bet a lot; I actually bet you tumble from one mess in another.”

“Shut it you clumsy freckled sheep, you have the right to be worried when you stop falling down the school staircase.”

“That was one time, I didn’t even break anything but I do remember when your freckled arse was in the hospital because SOMEBODY had to put a friend’s skateboard to the test at the freaking docks!”

“The only one allowed to complain about this is David that I broke his skateboard, you and Charlie shut-“

Somebody knocked at his door.

“I’ll call you this evening, okay Soph? I will call you each evening that I’m here, deal?” he tried to end the call, eyes on the door.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, then … hear you later. Try not to drown in any harbours in the meantime.”

“Don’t fall down any stairs in the meantime, brat.”

“Tosser” was Sophie’s last word before she hung up and Harry called “Who’s there?” to the door.

“Sorry I interrupted your phone call with Soph, Frecky” Charlie answered him. “But Vento called and he wants to meet with us at 10 in the building to – I want to quote his exact words – ‘Finish where we left of yesterday.’”

Harry had heard the grin in the voice and the chuckling from outside didn’t made it any better.

“So I’d advise you to put on some clothes, grab some breakfast and then help us get our shit together, Boss.”

“Get our shit together and teach this Sicilian wanker a lesson” Harry muttered while looking for his pants.  
  


* * *

 

It could have been a nice day since it didn’t rain like it usually did in London. Arthur Kirkland however, had too much problems to enjoy it.

Besides, grey skies and rain tapping against the window of his office would have fit his mood way better.

“Why couldn’t you little pathetic leprechaun just stay there in your hole and die slowly?” the Englishman snarled, trying to read the Guardian for the third time this morning but once again without success. He just couldn’t concentrate since there was maybe a problem.

This goddamned _maybe_ was what upset the blond. If the rumours that O’Connel sought for help for his business down there in Sicily were true, he most certainly had to deal with a problem, namely Irish becoming one.

Arthur already had this bloody powerful scot here on the isles, not to forget the rather shady Welshman, so he didn’t need another _serious_ troublemaker so close to him.

The only thing he needed even less was not knowing what was going on. Even without actively doing something, O’Connel was going on his nerves, making the Irish annoying on a level that it was impressive.

He heard the door open, followed by a “Sir?”

Arthur turned towards Robert Bailey, who just entered the room, his boss having a frown on his face: “Did you just enter my office without knocking, Mister Bailey?”

“The rumours are just got proven right and I think that this information is rather important so I didn’t want to waste time, Sir.”

Now Arthur cocked one of his thick eyebrows, still unimpressed: “It’s still not very gentlemanly to just enter my office without knocking.”

Robert sighed: “Since we found out that from all the Sicilian clans he begs Vento I didn’t really bother with being a gentleman this time.”

He paused shortly: “It’s not going to happen again though, Sir.” Not that it sounded genuine. Not that Arthur cared about the manners of his right hand man now.

He had hardly suppressed a hiss when he heard the name Vento, before taking a deep breath: “Thanks for the information Mister Bailey. You may leave now and tell Rashid I want to see him.”

“The Irish are in Sicily right now, Sir. Should we take chances?”

“We’ll see. But if we can get rid of both of them at once, who am I to say no to the opportunity.”

After he had left the room, Arthur started to read the newspaper for the fourth time by now, except this time with full concentration. The situation just got as bad as anticipated, but at least he knew now what to do. That was enough for an Englishman to finally read his bloody newspaper in peace.

“You’re the third one to interrupt me minding my own business and I swear Bailey, If you don’t have a good reason you will be the first one I take my anger out on” Tahir Rashid had threatened the taller blond when somebody tapped his shoulder with a “Oi!” while he had been occupied with this morning’s issue of The Independent lying on the table of their conference room.

“I’m sorry that your majesty actually has to work but the boss wants to see you” Robert had responded with an amused grin, for the Pakistani-Brit an invitation to make him this morning’s punching bag. Instead he got up and adjusted his suit jacket:

“What’s today’s case?”

“Just told him about the O’Connel/Vento thing, we’re most likely going to Sicily.”

Tahir frowned and looked at him: “So it’s true? The Irish was really stupid enough to take Vento’s obvious bait?”

“Birds of a feather flock together, both desperate bastards that are clutching at any straw” the other said and sat down on the table, earning a look of disapproval from his colleague. “Or do you have any other explanation?”

_One you wouldn’t like to hear_ he thought, _one I actually would like to not have thought of either._

“Make sure to knock!” Robert called when Tahir was almost out of the room, returning a “What kind of rude barbarian are you to not knock?! And get your arse off the table!”

“Get your head out of your arse, Rashid!”

Arthur finished his newspaper and got up, turning to the window.

The forecast had been right – the week of rain was over again. Soon, the heat would return and everyone who had been complaining about no real summer would soon regret it.  
British summers were invented by the devil himself – it was as if the sun tried to provide the heat it refused to give over the rest of the year all at once.

Today was just a sunny day and yet he was already glad to escape before it returned because nothing, not even Sicily’s weather or its pesky mafiosi, could be as deadly as this hell at home.

He let his eyes wander around more but there was not much happening in the street.

A few people, most of them in suit or another kind of business hurried down the sidewalk into one of the many other old brick buildings in the street, not paying much attention to what or who was around them. He rarely saw something else, his view as monotone as the life of the rest here. Every day the same routine, every day the same talk in all the other offices in this street. Long ago, this street had been part of an industrial quarter, far away from the rich part of London, from the bourgeois and the monarchy.

Yet Arthur could hardly believe that all those tycoons and their employees were any different from all the labourers who had hurried down this street over 150 years ago, both just working themselves to death in the brick red houses and believing they were important.

Well, the labourers had been important indeed.

He still stood in front of the window when somebody knocked.

“Come in.”

The Pakistani-Brit said nothing, simply opened and closed the door.

“Have you heard it already?”

“We’re going to Sicily to kill two birds with one stone, Sir?”

He smiled and looked out of the window again: “You’re dead-on, Rashid.”


	5. Unfortunate Events

The day continued being sunny and Harry could even experience it first hand during their walk.

Ah yes. Their walk.

They had talked about business, got stuck and somehow Vento had this ridiculous idea to take Harry for a walk, saying that he wanted to show him the city as well.

“I have seen Dublin but I guess you merely spend time actually seeing Palermo. How about we change that?”

“I have to guess that I have seen as much of Palermo as you have seen of Dublin.”

“Who knows? We might reach an agreement during it and when I am in Dublin you can show me around then.”

And now, as they walked along the coast, the Irish was cursing himself that he had agreed to do this and that there hadn’t been at least a _bit_ more resistance from his bodyguards.

“What do you think of Palermo, Harry? A nice city, no?” the Sicilian asked him all out of sudden and Harry cringed slightly.

He sighed instead of answering immediately.

Palermo _was_ a nice city. The baroque city centre, the Norman palaces, the old Arabian buildings, everything looked gorgeous and as if it was supposed to be like this. It wasn’t just a cluster that someone made without a plan; Overall it made a beautiful pattern.

But it was dirty, the streets in a miserable condition in some cases and Harry often saw houses that would have been already torn down in other places he had been.

The city seemed like an old emperor, worn out but still proud and noble.

“It really has quite something” he said. “Beautiful? Yes, I’d even say beautiful in its own way.”

He noticed Michele’s stare but tried to ignore it, yet his teeth gnashed at the next comment: “You couldn’t have described what I think when I look at you any better.”

“But surely, this city has some not so pretty parts” Harry said. “You for example.”

“Oh, not in a good mood today, I see” Michele mumbled. “What do I need to do to get a smile on this pretty face of yours once more? All those angry glares don’t suit you.”

Harry looked at him, at this man with one of the kindest smiles he had ever seen.

“Jump into the water and drown, then you’ll even hear my surely lovely laughter” he said without batting an eye.

“You are so rude, is that usual for Irish people?” the Sicilian asked.

“Only if you piss us off.”

“What did I do to piss you off?”

“You flirted with me.”

“Why should a little harmless flirt piss anybody off?”

“I thought I was here for business, not for dating. Then we understand the ‘Search for a partner’ completely different.”

Michele chuckled again: “Is it nowadays not allowed to compliment people?”

The Irish glared at him, deciding not to say “You telling me that you want to shag me wasn’t what I would consider a compliment” and instead to just not talk to him anymore.

And the other picked up on his reluctance to carry on any conversation, so Harry started to pay more attention to the surroundings again.

They were walking on the small sidewalk, behind a metal railway and far beneath them a small belt of beach where only a few people sat and enjoyed the sun.

A scooter raced past him on the street that Harry cringed once more and as he  
looked down on the beach again, a young man just put on snorkel equip and jumped into the water.

“And there they go, looking what they will find in the depths” Michele said, looking over the railway as well since Harry had stopped. “I used to do that too when I was a bit younger.”

“I see…” was Harry’s only answer, eyes still fixated on the happenings down in the water.

He stood here in blazing sunlight, looking down at a beach and catching words of a language he didn’t understand every now and then – He got reminded of Dublin.

The Dublin with its big impressive palaces and its dirty quarters, Dublin with its calm citizens that didn’t made much stress about anything.

Of course, Palermo was a different king, but he couldn’t help but think that they and Dublin were birds of a feather.

“Oh, I finally got what I wanted ~”

Harry turned back to glare at the Sicilian: “What?”

Michele smiled at the Irish: “You smiled about whatever you were thinking about. And I’ve rarely seen a smile so beautiful as yours, Harry” he added more quietly.

“I didn’t smile for you, though” he stated harshly and walked on.

Michele tilted his head a bit as he followed: “I don’t see how that changes the outcome.”

“It should change the effect though” he growled more to himself than to Michele.

“Alright then” Michele said and his voice sounded almost feeble. “Then let’s talk about business.”

“Back to the others?”

“What for?”

Harry stopped and looked at him like the Sicilian would have said something like _The sun revolves around the earth and pigs can fly_ : “You are trying to kid me.”

He sounded mildly more passionate: “Why should I? We are just two men talking about business, aren’t we?”

“Vento, entire Palermo could listen to us now.”

“Not if we go into one of those alleys. I know my citiy and I know its secret places.”

Harry looked at him but the other showed not more emotion than he did in his voice.

“And this isn’t just a trick to make me other immoral offers again, of course.”

“Oh no, what I am going to do now that we’re still in public and not all alone like yesterday” Michele said in a sarcastic tone.

“Wait, you are less worried about talking about our business than you are about somebody seeing you coming onto me?” Harry asked as he followed him over the street, striving to keep pace with him since he was not eager to get hit by one of the rabid drivers.

Michele frowned and gave him an entertained smile as they went into a small alley: “We’re in Palermo, of course the mafia is a much more accepted concept than being gay – Let alone bi or pan.”

Harry took a deep breath: “Ah, the fresh smell of our catholic historical bigotry. I am truly at home here.”

Michele couldn’t suppress laughter and had to snort. He cleared his throat and went around a corner: “You aren’t religious, Harry?”

“I am very religious, but there is often a difference between religion and bigotry. Sadly, most of the time, they go hand in hand and since I live in a very catholic country, am very catholic AND have a gay best friend, I’ve experienced the full range.”

“Being pansexual and very religious in a catholic country isn’t a piece of pie either” Michele said and Harry looked on his feet, smiling:

“I believe you …”

He rubbed his neck before throwing his head back: “Aww man and if we go to hell! It surely has better weather than Ireland so it can only be an improvement!”

They both laughed and something about it irritated Harry, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. He could only say that it wasn’t anything bad.

“Hellfire is this isle's default temperature in summer, I am going to feel at home down there!”

Harry laughed once more, this time alone, but when he looked back at Michele, he smiled as well. And once more Harry noticed something in the eyes. It was as if the dull gold was gleaming instead of sparkling.

“And I will surely have lovely company in hell” the Sicilian said and offered his hand. “Would you let me lead you the rest of the way? It can get quite confusing.”

The Irish hesitated and bit his lower lip but then smiled at him before taking his hand: “Of course Michele.”

“Hey, you called me Michele” he replied with an even brighter smile, pulling him around the corner.

And he just wanted to add something when a voice called right from where they had entered the alley just a minute ago and the Sicilian’s face froze:

“I am very sorry to interrupt your rainbow moment gentlemen, but I am afraid you will have to come with me.”

They looked at each other in surprise but didn’t bother to turn around.

“I don’t need to see if I want to know who the owner of this voice with the thick Londoner accent is” Michele said. “Although this is the least place where I had suspected to hear it.”

“Not only the accent, the whole way he talks screams ‘I am a jerk” Harry added, glaring at the Sicilian: “Can say I’m not pleasantly surprised as well.”

Michele frowned back: “Oh, you know Robert?”

“I am actually wondering how _you_ know him.”

“Stupidity spreads like a disease and so does the reputation of stupid people.”

“That is a perfect and logical answer.”

“It isn’t polite to talk about somebody like that when he can hear it” it came from the tall blond, a slight aggressive tone swinging within words. “Did your parents teach you nothing?”

Finally the two turned around.

“Oh Robert … since when do you care about being polite? The fact that you even know that word, I’m downright amazed. And curious, where from?” Michele responded with a rather tired and annoyed look, paired with a small grin. “Got a dictionary?”

“You are not a gentleman or whatever you think of yourself, you are an arsehole in a suit, Bailey” Harry spat.

“You are sure you are not confusing me with your friend, the Dublin poof? And it seems like you are one as well” Robert growled amused and Harry glared at him, almost clenching his fists.

“Well, I would kick your fucking stupid arse for that, but I’ll just gonna tell Charlie instead so he can kick it personally the next time we run in to you. And don’t just assume shit if you know nothing, so shut your trap for once because you’re lowering the IQ of the whole borough.”

Robert looked at them for a few seconds, the blue eyes filled with repressed anger which made the smile only meaner.

“The boss only said you should be alive, he never said something about not injured.”

Harry only glared back: “ _Try it, wanker._ ”

“You know that there are probably more of Kirkland’s guys?” Michele whispered to him.

“What should they do, we are still in public, even if it is a shady alley” Harry replied. “They can’t do shit, now do they?”

“Well, it’s impossible that my men won’t know – “

They heard the approaching footsteps too late and Michele’s sentence ended in an ugly gagging noise when an arm pressed against his throat.

It was the same game with Harry but lucky for him, the grip around his throat wasn’t very tight.

Within a second, his hands had gotten a hold of the arm and pulled down while throwing his head back, hitting his enemy on the chest.

Harry felt dizzy for a second, but the other yelped and eased his grip – Breaking away completely when Harry kicked his knee.

_Don’t look back, if you get past Robert you’ll be on a big street in no time again, then you can save your own sorry arse and then Michele’s._

He leaped forward; if he could manage to get his knee into the Londoner’s kidneys _or even just his damn balls_ , he’d be able to get past him.

Robert hadn’t reacted yet, not even when Harry was in front of him, raising his knee in one swift motion –

_Too many damn muscles to move quick enough, huh?! Serves you right._

The Londoner simply took a step back.

“Bloody little rat” Harry heard him say while he steadied himself so he wouldn’t fall over, letting his guard down for half a second.

And Robert took the chance.

Taking a step back and with a grin he hauled off, suit tightening to accommodate the new pose of the body.

It looked easy. As if planned. Absolutely effortless.

Not like the punch to his left cheek should hurt this much.

Harry’s head got thrown to the side, stars danced in front of his eyes, he stumbled backwards,

“Lewis, move your damn ass!”

“Of course, Sir!”

and before he could come to a hold on his own, somebody grabbed his shoulder and pulled him close. Immediately something got pressed against his mouth and nose and his senses faded quickly due to the biting smell of the cloth in his face, yet he glanced to the side.

Michele sat knocked out on the floor, leaning against a wall.

“Thank you, Miss Varsani” Robert said and it was the last thing Harry heard before everything faded to black.

The Londoner looked down on the limp body in the arms of the Indian woman.

“Can you carry him?” he asked but Varsani shook her head:

“I can barely hold him, Sir.”

“Alright, let me handle this then” he replied before looking over to the other Englishman who was still in the same spot he had been a minute ago.

Lewis jolted, shrinking another inch under his glare:

“I’m sorry, Si-“

“Stow it!” he bellowed. “Stop being useless for once and get King!”

Just as he scurried away, the Irishman spouted gagged noises, making Varsani and Robert stare in surprise.

But the young woman reacted quickly with shifting her weight and moving her arms to push against his stomach and after just one quick push he spit something out. Seconds went by but the Irish’s head just kept down, not other movement than him breathing and Robert looked down on the street, curious what had bothered O’Connel so much, while Varsani put him down beside Vento.

He had spit out a tooth.

The Englishman couldn’t help but grin.  
  


* * *

 

“I should quit staring” Marco murmured to his brother.

“You should totally quit staring” his brother agreed.

“If I don’t quit staring he’ll think I am up to something” Marco sighed.

“He will totally think you are up to something” Lorenzo backed him.

Even the blank green walls would have been a better place to stare at, but instead Marco had kept throwing looks in the direction of the younger Irish.

Because this Higgins just had a damn well looking suit through and through.

It fit the rest of his appearance almost perfectly – red-brown hair styled messy like he just got out of bed, clearly on purpose and the blue eyes went along ideally with the light blue waistcoat and grey tie.

“Quit staring, Charlie”, Paddy sighed, while the other tilted his head.

“I am not staring, I am enjoying the view, old man ~”, Charlie said, continuing to look at the twins, who sat 2 meters away on the other end of the room.

He sighed once more: “Now you just got creepier, quit staring.”

“Oh come on, Paddy, let me have a little fun here. Frecky gets to be alone with that Apollo of a man, then it is only fair I can dream a bit about those two angels.”

“Charlie, sometimes you are a closed book to me.”

“What, why? Because I enjoy looking at pretty people?”

Paddy hit him with the elbow in the side that Charlie stumbled a step to the side:

“I – Ah sorry.” Paddy grabbed his arm and gently pulled him back. “I wanted to say that I can guess what is going on in your head and _that_ I don’t get.”

“Oh come on old man, you must have been young at some point, too.”

Paddy shifted his look and stared at the wall opposite to him: “This is nothing that can keep you busy for such a long time.”

“In the end it is just a movie in my head, therefore – “

“You know that they can hear you?”

Charlie frowned but Paddy ignored it and carried on: “Just because we don’t understand them doesn’t mean they can’t hear us. You would have noticed it if you had looked more closely. Besides, no matter how quiet we whisper, this room is too small.”

Marco buried his face in his hands, wanting to scream into them.

Instead he muttered “I should have quit staring” as his brother’s phone rang and he put his hands down, looking to him as he answered:

“Pronto?”

And just after one second, Lorenzo’s look had disbelief written into it:

“Kidnapped?”

Marco unintentionally copied his brother’s face as he carried on:

“What do you mean with they got away, how can they get away, we know everything he – No, you listen!”

“Charlie?” Paddy asked when the other one’s look had changed; He was frowning again, questioning and sternly. “What are they saying?”

“All I can say is that they got bad news” Charlie said as the twins exchanged a few words.

One kept talking on the phone, the other turned to him:

“It seems like we have to tell you something.”

“Who got them?” Charlie asked, earning a surprised look from Paddy and the twin. “I got the ‘kidnapped’ and that for sure.”

“That important English bastard – “

“Kirkland” Paddy ended the sentence and the Sicilian scowled:

“Supposedly, since his big blonde monkey was seen here.”

“Bailey!” Charlie replied this time with a fake smile.

“Seriously, where do you know them from?” Marco asked and Charlie laughed while Paddy grinned, which only darkened the look on the Sicilian’s face.

“Because Irishmen and Englishmen don’t get along well” Paddy said. “No wonder he came here to bother us.”

“How I could not know this big blonde monkey when he is the one to gossip the most about me?” Charlie grinned, walking over to the table. “Pray tell me where you know that homophobic tosser from.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it” Marco replied. “You just need to know that we are in the same boat.”

“And that boat is sinking right now” Lorenzo growled, tapping on his phone before putting it to his ear again.

"Great, and what’s the plan now?” Charlie asked.

“You be quiet and let us do our job” the twins said synchronously and the others stared for a second, causing the Sicilians to raise an eyebrow before Lorenzo was occupied with a call again.

“Okay, Gentlemen, that was creepy” Paddy said.

“That was creepy indeed, please don’t do that ever again, Christ” Charlie backed Paddy’s words. “Do you really mean that?” he pressed Marco.

“Of course we mean that, what did you expect?”

The Irish leant in to them: “I beg your pardon, but I’m not just gonna sit here and wait twiddling my thumbs when my best friend got kidnapped by his archenemy. Especially since you apparently managed to see how they got kidnapped and yet lost them again.”

It didn’t even take two seconds before Marco grabbed his tie and pulled him closer: “You want to play games, Signore Higgins?” he hissed. “It’s not only your best friend who got kidnapped but our big brother and you shouldn’t piss me off any further with your thoughtless blabber and fucking accusations. We know what we are doing.”

“You have beautiful eyes, I could drown in them” was Charlie’s answer. “They’re like molten amber, damn. And sorry, I didn’t mean to drive you mad, I am just worried by myself, could you now please let go?

That tie was too expensive to scrunch it up.”

The Sicilian pulled him even closer, not able to decide if he should just let go of him or smash his jaw on the table, when the other started to speak again:

“Okay, either you want to kiss me or you got even madder. For the first thing – just do it, please and for the second – I am honestly sorry, I do believe that you two are just as worried as me about your boss, okay? And pull a bit tighter and I’m gonna choke.”

He pulled more, forehead almost touching Charlie’s and looking him dead in the blue eyes: “Good.”

Paddy cleared his throat loudly and even if the Sicilian couldn’t see the older man, he could imagine the judging look.

With a “Tsk!” Marco let go of him and looked away while the Irish straightened himself up and his tie as well.

“Thanks. Back to the original statement, I’m not up to sit around and do nothing.”

“No, you are up to flirt with my brother” Lorenzo snarled. The phone laid on the table, his hand on it.

“Oh boy, if you are jealous then I can flirt with you as well. I mean, you’re just as beautiful as him-“

“Charlie. They are right, how about really doing something for a change” Paddy said and the younger one looked at him – both ignoring the twins’ “We don’t want or _need_ you to do anything!”

_Right, he is right. Okay, focus again, focus on what you said. You can not only talk, you’ve got to suit the action to the word. Yes, but how? Keep thinking, keep thinking, use what’s in your pretty head …_

He took his phone out of his pocket and unlocked the screen.

“What are you doing?” the other Irish asked and Charlie turned his head to him.

He grinned: “Things.”  
  


* * *

 

Harry woke up with a massive headache and pain pulsating through his teeth. He moaned and put his head back, trying to stretch himself -

He only stretched the ropes around him and made the handcuffs on his hands jingle, because next thing in this long list of surprises was that he was tied up to a chair.

“Bloody fucking goddamn he – ahhhahaaaaa!”

Okay, teeth hurt, speaking hurt, what the hell was going on?

Slowly the Irish slid his tongue over his teeth, tasting blood and feeling something wet, papery pressed in a tooth gap –

Wait, tooth gap?

“THOSE IDIOTS KNOCKED ME A TOOTH OUT!”

“Ahhh, you finally woke up” he heard Michele beside him and slowly moved his eyes to his left to glare at him. If looks could kill, the Sicilian would be deader than dead by now.

“It’s. All. Your. Fault” he hissed and Michele looked a bit offended and surprised:

“What? How is it my fault now?”

“If we would have gone to your place or just kept walking on the main street, this all wouldn’t have happened!”

The tone changed to fully offended as the Sicilian replied:

“You say that as if I am their partner! I don’t know how your partners in crime have treated you, but as one you rarely end up tied to a chair after being knocked out with chloroform!”

The Irish bit his lip and glared at him, then turned his head away: “This is the worst situation I’ve ever been in!”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, it could be worse.”

With a sugar-voice Harry turned to him again: “Did they knock you a tooth out? No they didn’t.” The sugar became a pissed off growl: “So shut the fuck up Vento!”

“Could you lovebirds be more quiet? Someone’s trying to read The Independent in peace” it came bugged from another Person with a Londoner, yet strange accent.

Tahir sat half-hidden in the shadows three meters away from them on the same uncomfortable chairs as they did with a newspaper in his hands. His expression was emotionless as usual, maybe the brows a bit furrowed in annoyance.

“He said lovebirds.”

“Shut up Vento.”

“Our chemistry is apparently so strong that even somebody like Signore Rashid notices it.”

“This is worse than the one time when I was locked away with Charlie for hours.”

“Don’t deny your feelings for me, bello.”

“The only feeling I have for you is a rapidly growing, fierce hate.”

“Fine, then lie and be rude to me again if you got to.”

“And then saying I am acting like a drama queen.”

“When I said yes to this, I thought the part with killing people and being a disgrace to society would be the worst part, but no, of course not, it’s bickering gits” the Londoner murmured when he heard the door screeching.

“Good afternoon Gentlemen” Arthur said after he stepped into the room of an abandoned, unfinished building they were sitting in.

"Arthur! How nice to see you again!" Michele greeted him with his special smile and crossed his legs. He still looked like it was all just a game between friends, while Harry didn’t even come near this look. He looked like he would to strangle the Englishman right here and right now if the ropes and handcuffs weren’t in the way.

“You knocked me a tooth out, wanker!” he spat – literally, there was still a bit blood in his mouth and he tried to put it to good use by getting it on Arthur’s suit.

“Oh, _I_ didn’t do it but trust me, it’d have been a pleasure” the Englishman gave back. ”And I wouldn’t have minded my suit getting dirty from it, but now that’d be just disgusting.”

Suddenly, Harry started to grin from one ear to the other: “Téigh I dtigh diabhail.*”

“And now were speaking in devils tongue.”

“Feisigh leat.**”

Arthur leant in to him: “Bloody little dirty leprechaun.”

He slurred the next words: “Seems like I wasn’t specific enough – Gabh trasna ort fhein.***”

And with that he spat the tissue from his gap, soaked full of his bloody spit, right on Arthur’s suit.

He heard the Sicilian chuckled and his subordinate ask: “Do you want a handkerchief, Sir?”

“That’d be very nice, Mister Rashid.”

Michele, who had watched their conversation with interest, now shifted his look to the other Londoner. He hadn’t seen the other man very often but whenever he did, it was standing tall in perfect posture and a perfectly relaxed face.

Very different from the two men who carried on with their argument beside him.

“Doesn’t speaking hurt you bastard?” Arthur asked after wiping his suit with the handkerchief.

“It does a bit, but your pissed-off voice is the best painkiller” Harry replied before Arthur slapped him across the face with the rag:

“Wipe that insufferable grin of your face.”

Michele coughed and they both looked at him: “May I ask why the whole thing? Though the lovely chit-chat of you two, I don’t think we are here because you missed our company, Arthur.”

The Englishman straightened up and cleared his throat: “Right. You are because I am going to kill you. I am very sorry gentlemen, but you just cause too much trouble.”

“I don’t think that I can let this happen” the Sicilian responded. “Besides that, we didn’t cause trouble at all – if we desist from Harry’s behaviour like half a minute ago.”

“Vento, stop calling me Harry“, it came from the Irish.

“I call him Arthur as well so why are you so mad about it?”

“Because he also qualifies as the others where you should not use my first name.”

“I am sorry to interrupt your domestic quarrel, but can we please get back to the original topic?” the blond interrupt them. “It is just that O’Connel’s business will finally disappear and you won’t gain ground somewhere else besides your little corrupt bloody island, Vento.”

“It’s a beautiful, corrupt island” Michele said, a slight anger in his voice.

“And you will die on it. Isn’t that nice?” Arthur put a small smile on his face. “Any other things you need to discuss with me here?”

“When will you finally fuck out of my damn life?” Harry asked.

“Sooner than you’ll think” was Arthur’s answer as Rashid spoke up:

“Don’t you think we should hurry up a bit, Sir?”

“Of course, Mister Rashid. You may take care of what’s left here.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

After one last look to Michele and Harry – both of them glaring at him – Arthur disappeared from the room and the other man walked over to his chair and pulled up a bottle that was hidden under it, taking off the lid.

“Well gentlemen, this smells like chloroform to me. What do you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Go to hell  
> ** Go fuck yourself  
> *** Go fuck yourself sideways


	6. Painful Realisations

Sophie was worried.

She was always worried about her brother – if it was for his damn business or the fact he was a stupid twat – but now she was _worried_ worried and not even her sheep could distract her.

“He promised to call me each noon”, she told Willow, who grazed in front of the stone she was sitting on. Willow was an old mother sheep and a real good listener – she wasn‘t good at conversation though.

“And Harry is stupid and a complete idiot, but he is nobody who forgets things! Or breaks promises! Well, at least not the honest ones he gave me.”  
Willow only kept eating her grass and Soph sighingly realized that she needed a bit more than a listener.

Sadly, she had nobody who could be this bit more.

Although she wasn’t the one who had to do the job and therefore wasn’t in grave danger or under personality-breaking pressure, she was affected by the family career as well, because carrying a minor secret about your best friend around could risk your friendship and cause some other uncomfortable social consequences if you told it.

But carrying a secret like your family being a mafia one and telling it could risk your and other people’s life.

So she had to tell lies and although Soph had a rather carefree personality and a very comfortable life with nice people making up her family, she was so tired of it. Not even telling lies, she didn’t want people to know the truth, but she often wished so desperately that it weren’t lies she had to tell. That it was true that her brother worked for some big company to sell stuff all over the world. That she was only worried about him that much because “you can never know what will happen! You see, I just really love him!”

“Well yesterday you said that he is a bloody wanker – “

“Well yeah, he ate all of my fish fingers! Of course he is! And although him breaking a leg wherever he is would be a fair punishment for it, he is still my brother, so I want him to be well!”

Yes, they did care for each other, even if it didn’t seem like it and every time Harry left, Soph heard this little voice in her head:

_What if he’s coming back in a casket just like dad._

And every day he was away, the voice grew louder and louder and louder, saying more and more and more horrible things, letting her anxiety grow bigger and bigger and bigger!

Soph was 13 when her father died and that event had burned itself into her memory, every little image, sound, feeling.

Paddy’s sad face when he had gotten the news of his death, the croaky sound of Harry’s voice when he told her, how limp Charlie’s arms had felt when he held her at the funeral service.

How cold her father had looked in the casket. Cold, old and unhappy.

13 was no age to become an orphan.

14 was no age to start living in constant fear of losing the rest of your family.

No, not only Harry was her family, Charlie and Paddy were as well and she was worried about them just as much as she was about him – even though the promise one had made three years ago.

“I promised your dad to always keep an eye on the boys and now I promise you the same, okay Sophie?” Paddy had said after she had locked herself away in her room again, when once more her world had become too much by simply existing.

“B-But what if … what if … if they … And what about you?!” she had sobbed. “I don’t want to lose you! Who takes care of you? I don’t want to lose you all! I don’t wa-want to lose Charlie o-or my brother, I don’t want to have to go to another funeral!” Soph had shaken her head and had pulled at her hair: “I don’t want to be the last one! I d-d-don’t … D-don’t-“

And that had been the moment when the man first had grabbed her wrists, she still remembered how tiny they had felt in those big hands, he had pulled her hands away from her hair and then herself into a hug:

“Nobody’s gonna leave you alone Sophie, stop talking nonsense. How could we even?! How could I leave Aaron’s little girl or how could Charlie leave the little sunshine? And how could Harry ever leave his sister alone, the little sheep, hm? How could we ever leave our Soph behind?”

Soph had been paralyzed, not having hugged back, not having said anything, just having listened to Paddy’s deep voice: “Sophie, listen: Even if we are stuck in a situation so bad we have given up on ourselves, we will not give up on you. We will always come back home, okay?”

He had released her from the hug, yet had grabbed her shoulders again and had looked her straight in the eyes: “But you have to promise me something, too, Sophie. You have to promise that you will trust us, okay?”

Soph had said nothing and he had repeated himself: “Sophie, promise me that you will trust us on that. We _will_ come back home, no matter what, and you will not be scared to death every time we leave.”

Soph had nodded, tears in her eyes.

Soph woke up from her daydream, tears in her eyes.

And although the reason she woke up was a sheep stepping on her foot, she was pretty sure that it wasn’t the reason for her wet eyes.

“That’s it”, she whispered, wiping the tears away. “That’s fucking it.”

Willow, who was still grazing in front of the girl, looked up to her and now Soph was very thankful for the existence of her sheep again. A good listener was the only thing she needed right now.

“I know that this will probably cause problems, but one of them _always_ kept in contact with me! So if I get no call until-“she paid a fast look to her watch, it said half past 6, “9 o’clock, I’ll call Charlie! I trust them, but if they are breaking a promise…!”

She had said all of this in a fierce, motivated voice, but when she finished her sentence, it grew almost hollow:

“… they must be in some real danger.”

Willow only baaed.  
  


* * *

 

If there was one thing that bored the hell out of the twins it was waiting.

Of course, it was part of the job and they could wait for hours, but it bored the shit out of them nonetheless. And right now it was waiting _and_ being worried, which was honestly the worst combination you could have given to the Sicilians.

The fact that an annoying know-it-all had been added to mix this time wasn’t making it any better.

“What did we do to deserve this?” Marco moaned quietly.

“What did Michele thought when he started all this bullshit?” Lorenzo growled.

They should have known that trouble was ahead when Michele came back from Ireland and the first thing he mentioned was: “This O’Connel fellow is really a cute looking one.”  
If he was talking about business, he was talking about business and probably added a short “And boy, let me tell you, he’s really the opposite of ugly as well” or “But she could have distracted everybody, this woman was so gorgeous.”

He didn’t started talking about the person involved, he started talking about facts.

“Then this little shit appeared and now we have this disaster” Lorenzo sighed, leant back and ran his hands through his hair while his brother rested his cheek on one hand, the other one tapping on the table.

“And sadly he brought company along” he murmured, his eyes on the young Irishman who was talking on his phone. The twins had given instructions to their subordinates, their work was done, but this idiot wasn’t satisfied with it.

_At least we have to give him the due that he isn’t being lazy_ , Marco thought before shifting his look to O’Neill.

The giant was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and head resting on his chest, evenly breathing. That he could rest like this was also something you had to give one due for.

As he looked back to Higgins, he started to notice his suit again.

He couldn’t help it, he always had liked fashion and was sewing since he was 15, so he wondered if it was made by a tailor or just a really good mass produced one. And where was this waist coat from? It even had tiny silver chains – completely useless but very decorative – at the hips, Marco saw that that since Charlie had opened his suit jacket and shoved it aside when he put on of his hands in his back pocket, why did this thing even had back pockets this big? That was probably the only fault, because a suit like this one wasn’t supposed to let you carry around a hundred things, what do you got jackets for? Yeah, this definitely ruined the picture a bit, not mentioning that the annoying person wearing it already made a good job at it –

He felt his brother kicking him but it was too late:

“It’s not that I wouldn’t appreciate it, but you do notice that you are staring at my arse, Mister Bontade?” Charlie said grinning and Marco felt the blood rush to his head, which was the only reason he quickly buried his face in his hands.

_God is real and he hates me._

“Why”, he groaned. “Why me” he added a bit more quietly.

“Why what?” Charlie asked, still grinning and Marco put his hands down, actually wanting to use them for punching that grin right off the Irish’s face.

“Why does your suit have back pockets like this?”

“Because I need it for work and although suit pockets are not there to carry stuff, I need all the space I can get.” The grin that had disappeared from his face for this answer was followed by a smug smile: “But apparently they are also good excuses for people I caught staring at my arse.”

“Do you really consider your damn behind to be that-“ Marco started but sadly the Irish’s phone rang obnoxiously loud, demanding his attention.

“Bastardo” Lorenzo hissed and Marco only nodded in agreement. They really couldn’t wait for the trouble to be over, hoping Michele would have returned to his senses by then so they wouldn’t have to see the Irish guys ever again.

“Great news, I’ve got ‘em!” Charlie almost yelled and the twins first cringed at the volume of his voice which also caused Paddy, to snap out of his doze.

“You got who?” he asked and yawned, apparently having forgotten everything that happened within the last hours but before Charlie could yell at him, his memory returned.

“Oh, excellent! Great work, lad!” he said smiling bright and patted Charlie’s back, causing the younger one to cough.

“Oh, sorry!”

“God, you have to remind yourself that you are the fucking hulk, old man” Charlie still coughed and Paddy’s smile went sheepish.

“So where are they?!” the twins yelled, synchronously and annoyed, and the other two looked at them.

“Sorry”, said Charlie and looked on his phone. “I am not 100% sure where your boss and my best idiot are, but I know where the English douchebags are at. An old, empty building at the edge of the city – god this is so cliché – and here’s the address.” And with that he threw the phone to the twins, trusting and _hoping_ they’d catch it. He even let out a relieved sigh when Lorenzo did so and the twins almost bumped their heads into each other when they looked at the map on the phone screen.

“That’s gonna be terrible with all the traffic on the street” Marco said.

“Not to mention how terrible it’ll be to get our men there without them noticing” Lorenzo added.

“Last time I checked alias one minute ago, _they_ were around 15 men, not counting the three main idiots” Charlie mentioned and the twins looked at each other for a second.

“Okay, thanks for your help and that crap, we will take care of that” Lorenzo answered when he tossed him his phone back: “You’ll stay here.”

Charlie almost didn’t catch it, being too surprised by his words: “What did you just say?”

“You did a good job, but we won’t take you two along” Marco repeated in the same bored and emotionless tone as his brother. “Because we will not risk anything by working together with people we barely know.”

“Well, yes, you will, because you probably have forgotten that it’s not only your boss but also ours who got kidnapped, so I will not wait here, trusting people _I_ barely know that they’ll bring me back my best friend. You can be as cute as you want, you still do not tell me what we’re gonna do.”

“Yes, because our country means our rules and do not worry” Lorenzo started

“Michele likes your O’Connel guy for ominous reasons and what is important to him will be brought back just safe and sound as him” Marco finished, not being able to suppress a little grin.

Charlie, by now having a rather displeased and annoyed look on his face, had already opened his mouth when Paddy spoke up:

“No” he said in his deep voice, his tone something along the lines of being annoyed, angry and real tired. “We will not stay here, even if it is your country and your rules. I promised to take care of this little guy so I will take care of him. And I’ve been into this business longer than you two are even alive”, the twins rolled their eyes about that comment, “so even if you don’t really know us, you can trust me that I am doing my damn job.” He looked at Charlie and sighed: “And I can assure you that Charlie also does it – although he doesn’t seem like it at first.” Ignoring the other Irish pouting and saying “I love you too, you twat”, he rolled his head and let his neck crack quietly: “We will trust you and you trust us for a few hours and we all get what we want. So, when we’re gonna leave?”

The twins looked at each other again for a few seconds, this time kind of surprised and questioning.

“Alright” Marco gave in.

“We trust you, you trust us, we’ll get back our boss, you’ll get back your boss” Lorenzo said, quickly walking over to the door and opening it. “And we’re going to leave now, Signori, you better try to keep up with us” he added with a slight smirk before he and his brother left. Paddy only grinned friendly and followed the two with Charlie:

“I make big steps, this won’t be a problem.”

“Teach me your secrets, old man” Charlie whispered to him while they went downstairs, making the older one chuckle. “Why did they listen to you like that?”

“I bet they only agreed so fast because they either think they could still get rid of us or because they didn’t want to waste more time” he replied. “Probably both.”  
Charlie tilted his head, thinking about it before he nodded: “Sounds like a legit train of thought.”

“See? And you know why they didn’t listen to you.”

“Because I am not old, experienced and intimidating?”

“Because you flirted like an idiot before. You’re too cheeky for your own good, lad.”

Charlie only glared at him and kicked the front door of the house open after it almost fell shut: “I didn’t _flirt like an idiot_. I bet you that I flirt like a god. Like a greek god! Probably not always on point, I admit I do a lot of bullshit, but I am a natural talent at it nonetheless.”

Paddy couldn’t help grinning at the at least very creative comparison. The four walked down the street by now, one of the twins talking on the phone and he was honestly surprised how one could talk so fast without getting his tongue in a knot or something.

“You know what? I really bet you something, old man: That I’ll do at least one of them” Charlie said with a smug grin and now Paddy sighed in annoyance and looked at him:

“You are obnoxious, do you know – Oh goddammit Charlie” he growled after he had followed his look.

“Hey, if one of them is allowed to stare at my arse, I am allowed to stare at theirs’” was Charlie’s reply and if Paddy wouldn’t have been so equally surprised and scared by what he just saw and realized, he would have given the other a light slap for his behaviour.

The car that apparently belonged to the twins was a nice car, really, nothing that made you cringe when you saw it, but…

“Charlie, I won’t fit into that bloody car!”

“Oh come on … don’t … overdramatizeyeah that could get difficult” Charlie said and scratched his nose, while the twins just looked at the two:

“We’ve got no time so better get your ass over here and in the car” Lorenzo called

“Or we’re gonna leave you here and manage that shit alone” Marco added.

“I am gonna break my neck, oh god” Paddy lamented but followed the Sicilians, letting out another stressed sigh when he saw that there were not even four doors, no, you had to turn the front seat down to get on the backseat.

“You’ve fit into my Porsche so you’ll fit into this Mito, even if I have to push you in” Charlie said grinning, leaning against the car, and Paddy, having already bent down to get in the Mito, glared at him:

“Don’t remind me of your fucking car, Charlie!”

“Signori would you just _please_ hurry up? Told you we’ve got no time goddammit” Marco snarled annoyed and Lorenzo, sitting already behind the wheel, mumbled something in Italian and started the car.

Paddy let out one last breath, before crawling inside, head first, scratching against the car roof and after he made it inside, he almost kicked Lorenzo while turning around to sit down, also accidentally ramming his knees into the back of his seat when he slid over to make place for Charlie, not to mention the fact that he still had to bent down to fit in the car.

“I am so awfully sorry” Paddy apologised to Lorenzo when he cursed at the knees in his back.

The Sicilian gave no answer, only adjusting his seat a bit forward, he rather gave up his perfect seat configuration then having two bruises on his back at the end of the day because of this _bullshit._

“What did we do to deserve this” Marco sighed after he shut his door and Lorenzo just shrugged.

“I don’t know but I am pretty sure God had to punish our lifestyle one day” he said before he hit the gas and the Mito leaped forward, off the sidewalk and onto the road.   
  


* * *

 

“This is the most humiliating thing this bastard could ever do to me” the Irish spat.

“This might be true, but you have to look on the bright side like me – I was never closer to you” the Sicilian behind his back responded and Harry grid his teeth in anger:

“I swear to God ̶ and you are my witness – Arthur Kirkland is a dead man! When I’m out of this, I tell you ̶ “

“Mind If I interrupt you, but we got a bigger problem” Michele said.

“What?” he snarled.

“The Saltwater will ruin my shoes.”

Now he heard it too: Water that poured into the box.

Harry moaned.

He was pissed when he woke up after being knocked out _yet again_ and that it was now in apparently a wooden box, if he could trust his bare hands which were tied up behind him but still able to touch the ground, back to back with the Sicilian, wasn’t making the situation better _at all_.

“Hm, that’s strange” Michele said and Harry sighed:

“What is?”

“The water stopped.”

“Nice. If the water just started pouring into the box it means we haven’t been thrown in the ocean anyways, if that was what you wanted to say. So no need to worry about your precious shoes” Harry replied in a tired and sarcastic tone.

“Oh who could have guessed it” Michele countered in the same tone. “Do you also have a clue where we are then, Sherlock?”

“I am with you in a wooden box and that fact alone is so fucking awful that I cannot even proceed thinking about anything else, sorry Watson.”

“Don’t talk to me like that when my hands are within the grasp of your sorry ass, Harry, because I will use them.”

“Godfuckingdammit, we’re tied up in a box, left to drown sooner or later and all Michele Vento thinks about is _this_. This is not Arthur’s fault, natural selection is fucking coming for you, my perverted friend.”

“It’ll be your ass because that is what is within reach, I assure you, I’d rather slap you in the face if it was possible right now, although your ass is sure one worth touching.”

“It _will_ be my arse? So you gave me a warning and yet you want to do it right away anyways?”

“You’ve got to be strict, bello, and that natural selection comment was not nice.”

“Bloody hell, we are probably doomed anyways so — OUCH!”

Harry wished he could glare at the Sicilian right now. Or punch him. One of the things that would be possible was pinching his arse so hard it hurt as well but that was out of question.

“I’ll kiss it better as soon as we get out of here”, Michele said, his voice telling you that he was smirking.

“Well, you can most certainly kiss my arse, but bloody sure not in that way” Harry snarled. “But you also could put your hands to good use and try to untie me.”

“I did already, but you know with what they have tied us up? Zip ties.”

“Noticed. Your point?”

“You can’t untie zip ties. Especially not when the cut the ends off.”

He muttered something to himself and Harry leant back a bit more: “What?”

“They also cut into my suit – and my palm, those brutes …”

“I got my tooth knocked out and you got cut, everyone has to pay their blood tribute, you wimp” Harry replied, slapping away the fingers that wanted to pinch him again.

“Well, thanks for your sympathy” Michele mumbled in a huff. “Anyways – they tied us up with two tight zip ties. And took all of my knives as well, which is not only making this all here very difficult but also me feeling disgusted.”

“Where the hell did you hid your knives.”

“In some places where nobody would look for them. Nothing too bad but I still don’t want to think about it. Also, they were really good knives, just one more thing on the list of what these idiots have done to me.”

There was silence for like 5 seconds.

“Like they ruined my suit.”

“First your shoes, now your suit, bloody hell!”

“Mind you, they were expensive! But of course you do not understand.”

“Do I look like this wanker that is my friend who thinks you should throw away your money for things like this.”

“Appearance is such an important thing in our business, spending money on a good suit is not throwing it away. But hey, I would still want you if you would wear a dirty t-shirt and stained jeans.”

“Noticed that when we were first together alone.”

Michele looked upwards: “For how long can one hold his breath?”

Harry stared to the side: “If you are not trained, it is over after like 3 minutes. Maximum.”

“Nice to know. You can hear it too, right?”

“That and my arse is getting wet.”

“We have to get rid of these zip ties.”

“Oh guess what Vento, I said that like a minute ago.”

“No, you asked me to untie you and now stop being pissed and come up with ideas.”

“You come up with ideas” Harry made a half-hearted comeback before he started thinking, trying to ignore the water pouring into the box, trying to ignore that it felt nasty and cold and started chewing on his lower lip. He wondered how easy one could break zip ties, the last time he and a few friends had tried it, it had taken quite a while and in the end they had two guys pulling it in the opposite direction and even that had required one try after another (and also broke David’s living room lamp).

But that would take time that they didn’t have so only starting to try it would be pointless. However …

“We could try and strip them off” he said and Michele rolled his eyes:

“And how?”

“You turn around and use your goddamn foot, you idiot.”

“They are really tight.”

“They are not too tight.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“We’ll survive it.”

“Then why are you first?”

“Bloody Hell Michele, make up your mind! First complaining about how it’ll hurt and now how about that I said that I am first! Goddammit!” Harry yelled and the Sicilian cringed.

“No reason to yell at me…” he muttered and the Irish just threw his head back to headbutt him and it hurt but it also hurt Michele so it was _worth it._

“Ou!”

“So either you turn around now or say I should, but quit complaining!”

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it, jeez … I am not eager to get my skin ripped off” he said and started to turn around, which took quite some time, he also accidentally hit the other two times, always followed by a “scusi, he” and Harry rolling his eyes.

“And you are sure this will work?” Michele asked sceptically one last time.

“Either you got a better idea or you start tearing this shit off right now” Harry growled.

“I hope you are prepared for pain” the Sicilian sighed and put his heel right between the Irish’s hands and Harry grid his teeth when the plastic cut into his skin.

_No worries – I was in for some sort of pain the moment I realized how you are._


	7. Different Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Niamh is pronounced neev

Of course he got the most boring job. He always got the dirty work.

But the dirty work was usually much more fun, it was usually what Robert Bailey was good at, like threatening someone, murder somebody or coordinating people during transports and such.

_Doing_ something.

Now he had to sit here and watch the surroundings of their hiding place, which meant staring at 10 little squares on the screen of the laptop in front of him.

“If they won’t take the bait and I bore my arse off for no good reason I am gonna make somebody pay” he mumbled while he let the knife hit the table before turning it around between his fingers to let it slide down until it hit plastic again.

He had done this for the past 30 minutes and this fact alone was sad. Very. Sad.

Robert sighed and paid a closer look to the other knives again. They were five in number and Rashid had given them to him just before he left.

“Have fun, I have no use for them” the Pakistani-Brit had said and had tossed them on the table right beside Robert, having caused him to cringe. Rashid had this really annoying ability to sneak up to somebody without them ever noticing him and the most annoying thing about that was actually that he didn’t even _try_ , he just _did it_. His colleague was like a goddamn cat in so many ways, which was probably the main reason why Robert didn’t like him. He always had been more of a dog person.

“Where did you get them from?” he had asked while the other had neatly arranged the knives side to side now.

“They were Vento’s Back Up Plan” he had gotten as answer and had cocked an eyebrow:

“His Back Up plan?”

“Yes, the sly bastard had the knives all over his body” Rashid had explained and had swept a finger over the Initials that were burnt into the wooden handle of one knife.

“And why do you think I would need some knives more than you? Give them to Kirkland or do whatever you want, I don’t want them” Robert had snarled and had yawned, having kneaded his eyes with one hand. He didn’t really sleep in 20 hours and he was a man that needed sleep. Not in the “I am a machine that needs a certain amount of rest otherwise I become more and more useless” way but in the “I like sleep, two hours of leaving the world behind never hurt anybody”. No sleep was not affecting his efficiency but his mood, much to the dismay of his subordinates.

“You will have to wait here for quite a long time, Bailey, and I know how much you like to play with knives so I thought you have a good use for them. Just try to not break anything” he had said and Robert swore, he had said it with a grin before he left, closing the door carefully without making a noise.

He clearly remembered having mumbled “I don’t want those stupid knives” right after the other had left.

And now he sat her with one of these stupid knives in his hands, letting hit the table over and over again. One of the actually six knives was already stuck in the chair that originally stood beside him but of course he had kicked it to the other end of the sadly very small room, otherwise it wouldn’t have been fun.

Not that it had been fun anyways. Not that anything could be fun if you had to watch a few webcams, listen to the headset earphone if somebody had to say something and try not to take a nap. Why all of this, what could go wrong? They wouldn’t find them and even if, he highly doubted that the Sicilians would be organised enough without their boss.

About the Irish he didn’t even worry, no, a faint smile crept on his face when he thought about the two. An unlikely duo, truly.

He couldn’t say too much about O’Neill except for what he heard about him and the little you could get out of the calm man. Very experienced, on the other hand probably a bit too old for the job, was all Robert dared to say for sure.

But it was impossible to meet Higgins and not know anything about the chatterbox. And in his opinion he was arrogant, annoying and disgusting.

Probably all because he was gay, at least the disgusting part was explained like that. The other two traits were probably not influenced by his sexuality, but they clearly influenced his behaviour and if the Londoner was sick of one person acting up with him it was definitely the cocky Irishman. The thought that he would very likely be the next on their hit list made him even laugh quietly, before he turned around and threw the next knife at the chair.

It got stuck in the thin fabric of the upper back of the chair and he looked at the other knives beside him, four were still lying there.

“And when that day is to come” he said to himself, turning to the laptop again and grabbing the next knife. It was the one with Vento’s Initials and he sighed, turning it around in his hand a few times, before he let it hit the table: “I’ll be the one taking care of it, taking care of you little bitch.” Oh, the mere thought brightened up Robert’s mood and he hummed, playing with the knife. How would he do it then? There were so many ways to kill somebody and Robert only knew he would make Higgins suffer. Or at least let him have a taste of his own medicine first, it was the Irish’s turn to get walked all over.

“For how long have they been into this business? 4 years?” he thought out loud, looking upwards, lightly hitting his chin with the flat side of the knife. “So we’ve only known those Irish for such a little time but I and the boss are equally annoyed by them, huh? That deserves some kind of award” he cackled and looked onto the monitors again. But right now O’Connel was drowning and his minions would follow soon after.

Drowning was quite agonizing, wasn’t it? Robert wondered what would be the most painful death… Shooting somebody? Of course not in the head or the heart, that’d be too easy. Burning somebody? Strangling somebody?

“Or stabbing somebody!” he said and threw the knife at the chair.

It got stuck in the back rest again, slightly vibrating.  
  


* * *

 

“So, when I see this stupid face I’ll have so many possibilities and I cannot choose one!” Charlie lamented.

“Oh, neither can I when I think of yours” Lorenzo growled while tapping his fingers on the wheel and Marco nodded, head leant against the car window.

It was eight pm and the traffic was horrible, like it always had been in this city, like it always had been in every damn city in this whole damn country.

Charlie frowned and looked at Lorenzo: “There are nicer ways to tell me to shut up.”

“I know but first, I didn’t plan on being any nicer to you” the Sicilian gave back.

“And second, I highly doubt that you actually shut up if somebody tells you to do so” his brother added and Charlie pouted.

“Look at them, only knowing you for two days and yet such accurate descriptions of your personality” Paddy commented and earned a glare from the other.

“Well, thank you, too, old man” Charlie said in a huff and Paddy only shrugged his shoulders, before making a face: “I better don’t move in this car. So, gentlemen, when will be there?”

“If we had been able to drive like we want, we’d already be there” Lorenzo sighed.

“If the traffic would be just half as bad, ten minutes” Marco sighed as well.

“But like this? Let’s hope for 20 minutes” they both said synchronously and the Irish cringed again.

“That’s still creepy, still damn creepy” Charlie said and Paddy nodded, accidentally bumping into the car roof.

“How about you don’t even breathe anymore” Charlie commented on it, an eyebrow cocked and looking at him but before he could answer they got thrown at the back of their seats:

“Blimey, was that necessary?!” Paddy cursed after he had managed to sit up halfway ‘normal’ again.

“And wasn’t that traffic light red?” the other asked after he had leant forwards, one hand on the back of the passenger seat.

“Goddammit, Is that all you care about now?!” Marco said and glared at him over his shoulder.

“Essato, every second counts!” Lorenzo backed his brother’s words before gesturing to the car in front of them and yelling something in Italian.

“I care about our safety! I mean-“

Marco: “I mean that you shut up now, Higgins!”

Lorenzo: “We know the rules of our own damn country!”

Both: “So just shut up and let us work!”

Charlie leant back again, looking at Paddy who shrugged with his shoulders, ignoring it reminding him that the car was still too small to move: “I think they are right.”

He closed his eyes: “And now excuse me, while I try to ignore that apparently everyone’s driving on these roads like there is no tomorrow.”

The younger one was just staring at the twins while he was also fastening his seatbelt, he didn’t thought it would have been necessary when they got into the car but now Charlie actually was glad he hadn’t _needed_ it before.

“Hey, old man” he whispered then, hoping it was quiet enough for the twins not to understand. “I think I really like the two.”

“I can guess in which direction this is going and do not like it …”

“I mean I always knew that the Italians are passionate and fiery but –“

“– I REALLY do not like the direction this is going –“

“– this, Paddy, oh … I never thought I would get lucky like this.”

“Okay, okay, first of all – You did not get lucky yet, and I kinda doubt that you will” Paddy sighed just as quiet as they had talked before and Charlie started to pout again, “and second – I think there are more appropriate times to talk about this … I guess.”

The other rolled his eyes and looked out of the car window.

“Did you get what they were talking about?” Marco mumbled almost silently to his brother, who only shrugged:

“Not really, didn’t listen either and we actually prefer not to know, right?”

“Damn right … I hope Michele is safe and back in his right mind.”

“Sí … I mean, even if … he told us, he wanted to play with that guy … so nothing serious after all …” Lorenzo said and his brother smiled relieved.

That lasted for 3 seconds before both of them said annoyed out loud: “Tell us another, we’re damned!”

“Why, is there a problem or is it about us?” Paddy buzzed and the twins looked at each other.

“Ah, it’s nothing” they said synchronously, causing the Irishmen to twitch.

“So it is about us” Charlie sighed. “About me especially, right?” After a second he started to grin: “Oh, I just thought of how a lot of people react when they realize they have a crush on somebody they thought they didn’t like ~”

Paddy looked at him with a frown: “And I thought you would have mended your ways for once.”

“Oh come on old man, what have I done now?!”

“You were being your … self again, whatever.”

“Well, if you don’t try you can’t win!”

“Oh, you had lost the second you opened your damn mouth!” Marco called annoyed to the back seat.

“So it’d be better for you to shut it right now, accepting your ‘defeat’!” Lorenzo snarled and turned the car into a side road, causing the others to get thrown around in the car again.

“I miss my car” Paddy quietly lamented and rubbed his head. “I miss being actually able to fit into a car.”

“I miss me behind the wheel and people on the roads not driving like they never saw a driving school from the inside” Charlie added and Paddy looked at him:

“You don’t drive much better, lad.”

“Yes, yes I know, ‘I can’t even drive straight’” the other rolled his eyes. “But this quite beats every – OUCH”

“The roads are really not the best” Marco hummed in a spiteful tone.

“Should we have warned you? ~” Lorenzo asked in the same voice.

“I think I broke my neck” Paddy moaned and Charlie nodded before he took his phone out: “Oh no … my hair looks awful.”

He looked at the twins: “Please tell me it was worth it and we are there sooner now.”

“Five minutes” Marco answered.

“Maximum” Lorenzo grinned and engaged the next gear.   
  


* * *

 

“WHY are you sitting here, staring at your phone?” Niamh asked and Sophie cringed, swirling around.

“Oh, I just – hey! WHY are you in my caravan?!” she asked the other girl back. Niamh was daughter to the farmers Soph bought the meadow from. They lived in a house just half a kilometre away and since last year when Soph bought her first sheep, the O’Brian family had been big help for her.

“My mom is worried about that you don’t have any food and dad asks if your caravan isn’t too hot or too cold tonight to sleep” she told her and rolled her eyes. “Parents. And my big brother asked if you need any help with the sheep and my wee brother asked if he can come here to ‘help’ you with the sheep, too.”

“Oh, I have food” she said with a sheepish smile. “I am fine, the sheep are fine, nooo need to worry!”

Her stomach decided to ruin the first and only lie by growling and Niamh grinned: “So you got food, sure.”

“What’s left from dinner and could you please bring me some” she mumbled a bit embarrassed.

“You know, you can still come, it’s only half past nine – “

“No, no! I don’t want to cause any trouble!”

“You wouldn’t. What’s the real reason?”

Soph frowned at her: “Would you stop looking right through me?”

Niamh crossed her arms and grinned: “I’ll stop when you stop being made out of glass.”

Continuing to glare, she grabbed her phone: “It’s about my brother. He wants to call me in half an hour and I told you how little time he has and that stuff … I would really like to have a talk in private with him.”

Niamh looked on the floor, chewing on her lower lip: “I understand … Where is your brother now?”

“Ah, he’s currently in Sicily … I am kind of worried … you know…?” Soph said and sat down on her bed. “Worried that his stuff gets stolen, worried that he gets sunburn because he is an idiot …”

Niamh chuckled and sat down beside her. “Ah come on, Harry’s not that much of eejit as you make him out to be.”

“Wanna bet?” Soph asked and Niamh laughed, letting herself fall back on her bed:

“Well, I like him! He’s friendly, he’s funny, he’s good looking – “

“Oh god, not that topic again.”

“I am just stating my opinion!” Niamh said and poked her in the side.

“That is not an opinion, this is a malfunction of the brain!”

“Oh god, would you stop that?! Your brother is not the devil!

“But he’s a bloody twat! What about Charlie, you can fawn about Charlie all day!” Soph suggested Niamh shook her head: “Nah! I mean, he looks good as well but he’s gay!”

“This can’t stop you from fawning!”

“Soph, what the hell?” Niamh laughed

“It is easier for me if you have a crush on him than on my brother!” she grinned and Niamh laughed again, her blue eyes sparkling from the laughing tears.

“Nobody ever said something about a crush, he is just nice!”

Soph threw a pillow at her, Niamh punched it and it landed on the floor: “Gah!”

Niamh couldn’t reply, for the next minute they just laid laughing on the bed.

“My tummy hurts” Soph said in the silence after it and Niamh started to laugh again, only to cough. “I also forgot what we actually laughed about.”

“Me too” she whispered and sighed, shaking her head to get the hair out of her face: “And my tummy hurts too, I should probably get something to eat.”

“What do I have to expect?”

“Mam made stew.”

“Oh, nice! Okay, you go and get the food and I’ll make sure my microwave still works” Soph said and got up, Niamh nodded and sat up as well.

“So, can I stay here?” she asked and the other looked at her, unsure expression on her face:

“The phone call – “

“Pleaaase!” the younger girl begged: “Please, please, please Sophie! I’ll look after the sheep when you get the phone call, I won’t make any problems! I’ll have to be back around eleven anyways! And I promise, I won’t talk about Harry anymore!”

“Okay, okay! Fine, you can stay!” Soph laughed and Niamh jumped onto her feet: “Yeah! Goodies, I mean. I’ll get the food, will be back in five minutes!”  
And with that she left the caravan and Soph alone, who listened to her steps on the grass.

“So, then let us pray you old, stubborn kitchen helper work” Soph said and turned on her microwave – at least she pushed the lever, which the microwave considered to ignore. She sighed and pulled at the cable, accidentally unplugging it. Plugging it in again and making sure it was plugged in tightly did nothing at all.

“Damn you” she cursed and got down on her knees, checking the power strip. It was turned on, unplugging and plugging it in again did exactly as much as before. Now she had to go outside, looking after the transformer. It was connected to the car batteries, three in number since she had no use for a motor and stuff anymore. They were recharged by the O’Briens every week when Soph was there – whether it was needed or not.

And the transformer was alright, she checked the cable connecting it to the batteries which was okay as well, so there was only one possibility left …

“I’m back! Does the microwave work?” Niamh asked when she spotted Soph sitting on the steps to the caravan.

She smiled bashfully: “Would you be so nice and get Ian, Niamh? And better tell him to go by car.”

“Oh man, really?! We just checked the damn batteries a week ago!”

When Niamh ran back to her house, Soph sighed and looked into the sky, the pot full of stew on her lap.

_I really hope your day is a tad bit better, brother mine, I really do._


	8. Saving Oneselves

“There’s at least one good thing about the water” Michele said and Harry frowned.

“That is?”

“I heard that saltwater works disinfectingly.”

“You want to say that your open palm burns like a bitch?”

“It is just such a tiny wound, I really wonder how it can burn that much.”

“Well, you have no idea where this water here is from, maybe it’s little germs and parasites already eating you from the inside.”

Michele glared at Harry, very displeased that the other couldn’t see it. They now had both turned around, but you could not say that they were looking each other when it was pitch black inside of the box.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you Harry.”

“Damn right I do.”

For the past 20 or 30 minutes they had been trying to get rid of the plastic strings and all that they’ve gotten out of it was frustration and pain.

And the realization that it actually _was_ saltwater, a “truly horrible fact, now you _do_ have to worry about your shoes, don’t rack your brain too much about it“, how Harry had commented on it. Michele’s reply had been another pinch of the Irish’s butt.

“Hey, ready for another try?” Harry asked into this silence.

“Sure, turn around.”

As he shuffled around, he asked: “Do you know Gerald’s Game?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“It’s a Stephen King Book. There’s this scene where the protagonist cuts herself and gets rid of the handcuffs like this.”

“Just because she cuts herself?”

“It’s because she skins most of her hand by cutting and the blood also makes it easier.”

“Oh.”

“But sadly all of your knives are gone…”

“Harry, if we still had my knives we would have-“

“So that we are still in this box and have to talk about stuff like this.”

Michele rolled his eyes and leant a bit forward, just so the water would stop to run down his back as he started to put his heel between Harry’s hands once more, pressing down on the zip ties.

“You know what I just realize?” he asked as the other hissed.

“Tell me” Harry still managed to get out.

“It was not very gentlemanlike of Arthur to not grant us a dying wish.”

“He knew if he would have, mine would have been to punch him so hard he just passes out.”

Michele thought about it for a second before he shrugged again and nodded: “Nice one. You know what mine would have been?”

“To kiss me probably – aww dammit!”

“Should I stop again?”

“Yes please.”

Michele took his foot away: “You’re good, by the way. I mean, would have been like second choice after telling him to get back to England, taking everything with him and never ever put a sorry foot on Sicilian ground again … But yes, if you had said knocking him out, I would have gone for a kiss.”

“Guessed so. I mean, all this bullshit practically wouldn’t have happened if you wouldn’t have tried to ‘seduce’ me all the time, so not seizing every opportunity would have been a waste, right?”

“What do you mean by ‘seduce’-“

“But can I ask you something else?”

“I’m listening, also -“

“Do you ever thought it would end with you like this?”

“- you talk quite a lot when you are devastated, don’t you Harry.”

“Who the hell said I am devastated.”

“You are sitting in a wooden box, left to drown … together with me.”

“I think I gave up any emotions.”

“… No I never thought it would end like this with me. Did you?”

“This whole thing was so bullshit cliché from the start, I don’t really wonder about it.”

“An appropriate ending for the story then, huh?”

Harry laughed, and he laughed long and Michele didn’t thought he would have been able to smile in this situation but he was.

“Your laughter sounds so full of heart” he hummed really quietly, more like talking to himself.

“My laughter sounds dirty, nasty and wrong but thank you” the other corrected him since he had still heard it. “That’s what almost everybody else said about it.”

“Then they didn’t listen right.”

“Probably” Harry said with a smile in his voice. “The water has stopped again.”

“It’s most certainly an old warehouse we’re in, the water pipes and everything else surely doesn’t works as good as it should anymore.”

Harry nodded and looked to the side.

The silence came back, filling the box and for some reason, Michele felt like it would crush him. Like the silence was something with actual weight, like gas that makes you cough and your chest feeling heavy until you were unable to breath.

“If the others aren’t going to save us, we’ll die in here.”

“That’s right Watson.”

“Aren’t you upset? Oh come on, I expected a bit more fighting spirit from you.”

“Trust me, there is a lot of fighting spirit. I am just channelling it right now. Because yelling won’t help me here.”

“Oh, very serious out of sudden” Michele said with a smirk in his voice.

“I’m just professional – unlike you.”

“Excuse you?” The smirk was gone. “I am very professional.”

“Yes, you’ve been very professional, telling me that you want to shag me at our very first meeting and literally doing nothing but flirting with me until the very moment, which we are spending tied up in a wooden box getting flooded. Very professional Vento, very fucking professional.”

Michele was silent for a second before he quietly and dauntedly admitted “Maybe I wasn’t professional.” Harry chuckled as the Sicilian carried on: “But it’s still … interesting how calm you became. Honestly wouldn’t have expected it.”

The Irish sigh sounded exasperated: “I am very determined to keep a promise I gave somebody. Try it again.”

Michele carefully felt around for his hands with his foot again: “You gave a promise? To who?”

“None of your business” he replied before clenching his teeth.

“Please don’t tell me it’s a special little lady.”

Harry laughed, interrupted by a small cry of pain: “It is a special little lady.”

Surprised he looked over his shoulder – not because he’d actually see anything but he felt like he had to look why Michele stop.

“Oh god.”

“What?”

“I am so sorry Harry, if I had known …”

“Actually I am not so sure about the lady. Special? Yes. Little? Yes. Lady? Nah … I’ve got a special little sheep waiting for me.”

Once more, silence filled the box and as Michele spoke up, he sounded distraught:

“I … I have heard about the stereotypes and all the jokes but this is – “

“Oh come on! It’s my little sister Soph, only her nickname is sheep!” A small thought he couldn't quite catch flew through his head when he said this. _Have I said too much?_

Michele laughed and Harry had the mighty need to turn around and kick him.

“Now there’s the fire I missed in you ~”

“If you made that sheep shagger joke only to piss me off, then I will find a way to get out of this and leave you to drown here.”

“I just saw the opportunity and took it” Michele replied. “Besides that … that really threw me off a bit.”

“Did you really think I –“

“No!”

“Good!”

Once more the heavy silence came back and once more Michele had to break it before the feeling of suffocation came back:

“You know … if you really want to see Soph again … we should probably risking doing it Gerald’s Game style.”

“The water started pouring again.”

“That’s why I’m saying it.”

Harry stopped nibbling on his bottom lip and let his head hang.

“I can go first, too, you know Harry.”

“No, no … it’s fine. Try again.”

He put his feet between the other’s hands again and pressed it down, and Harry wanted to say something but had to grit his teeth now.

A little “Ouch” escaped his mouth anyways when the strings cut into his skin, but Michele didn’t stop, no matter how much he had cringe whenever another painful sound slipped from Harry’s lips.

The next minutes felt like an eternity, especially to Harry who had bit his lip so hard it bled, even when they had already started losing track of time, but finally, the ties slipped over his hands.

“Finally!” Harry whispered and shook his hands, running one hand over the other wrist and laughing: “Oh god, I’m free!”

He turned around, bumping his head into the top of the box and after quietly cursing, he put his hands on Michele’s knees: “Make room, gotta get to your hands.”

“Always for you, bello” Michele purred and spread his legs, so Harry crawled almost onto his lap, putting his arms behind his back and resting his head on his shoulder.

“You know, it didn’t even hurt that bad” he said and Michele pressed his face to the Irish’s neck.

“That’s nice to know.”

He forced his hand between Michele’s and grit his teeth again, before hissing: “Try to get them out, I’ll help.”

The Sicilian was pursing his lips and started to wiggle his hands out of it. It hurt his already raw wrists, he almost disarticulated himself a few fingers several times but he came free after another few minutes.

“Oh god, it hurts” he muttered, relieved though, grabbing Harry’s shoulder and then running his arm down to his wrist when the Irish was backing away.

“And you are sure this is okay?” he whispered and kissed it, leaving kisses all over the wrist and hand before Harry pulled it away, glad that it was so dark in the box.

Although he wished he had no red face to be hidden in the first place, _what the hell was going on with him and his body, what was the Sicilian doing that made it react like this?!_

“Idiot, rather think about how we’re getting out of this box!”  
  


* * *

 

“Now the good question is – how to get inside” Lorenzo muttered, mouth covered by his hand he was resting his chin on.

“With nobody finding _us_ until _we_ found what we have been looking for” Marco added, scratching his head.

They stood on a lift midway between the hill it was on and the abandoned building below them.

The sun had almost gone down, wind had gotten up and Charlie froze underneath his suit jacket, wishing the others wouldn’t have gotten in such trouble.

The next second he shook his head, wanting to slap himself for having such thoughts – It clearly wasn’t Frecky’s fault he stood here freezing.

“And we should hurry up a bit, shouldn’t we?” he asked instead and the twins turned their heads to look at him.

“You’re right” Marco said.

“For once” his brother mumbled and they looked at the building again: “I bet they have cameras.”

“But I bet they aren’t some high-tech shit” Charlie commented. “They didn’t have the time for it nor the space. I’d go for webcams in that case.”

“And how are we gonna take care of them?” Paddy asked, leaning against the car.

It made the Mito look even smaller.

“Hacking! But I’m too stupid for this.”

He looked at the twins but they shook their heads:

“No idea how.”

“But if it are webcams, they most certainly have it connected in some way, I could do something about that though …” Charlie piped in again.

“Or we just find out where they are” Lorenzo cut him off and walked over to the car, opening the driver’s door and pulling a knife out of the side, grinning slightly: “And do it the old school way.”

“Wait, wait, wait – is that a ballistic knife?” Charlie asked and now both of the Sicilians grinned.

“God, those things are great!” it came from Paddy and the twins stopped grinning and started to look irritated at the Irish.

“We had tons of those! We still have, but we usually don’t use them anymore” he continued smiling. “Where do you have that one from? It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before!”

Charlie snickered and the twins sighed relieved, Lorenzo turning the knife in his hand around: “Built that one myself, I was curious how they worked so I looked it up and made my own.”

Marco had walked over to the car in the meantime, opening the back door: “The others we have are actually from the US, army knives, you get me. No Italian Quality Goods, sadly.”

“There is such a thing as Italian Quality goods?” Charlie mentioned before a gun almost hit him in the face.

“Stop the jokes and brace yourself – I suppose both of you don’t have any weapon?”

“Is that a Walther?” Charlie asked when Marco tossed Paddy the same gun after the Irish had nodded concerning the Sicilian’s question.

“First complaining about how I make jokes about Italian quality goods and then giving me a German weapon” he said annoyed and rushed under his breath, only to earn a hit from Marco as the Sicilian  
walked past him over to his brother.

“So the plan is to destroy every camera we find and get to what we want which is either our bosses or the information where they are” Lorenzo explained, still playing with the knife between his hands.

“So Bailey, Rashid or Kirkland himself” Paddy said and the twins nodded.

“I also think we should part – The chances of finding something are higher then” Marco continued and Charlie grinned:

“Also the confusion. I mean, they could easily track us when they just follow the webcams that failed – but then they have to follow two paths.”

“Right …” Lorenzo said before putting his gun into the holster attached to his belt and turning around, kneeling down on the ground, his eyes wandering over the estate.

“Hey, these are those kind of … clip on holster?” Charlie commented after he had watched Marco putting his gun into the same as his brother.

“Yes, they are pretty – Wait, I’ll get you two them” he sighed and walked over to the car and opened the back door again. The floor of the cargo bay was unusual high for a Mito and Marco put his finger into a small dent on the floor, pulling it up – and under the floor were guns, rifles, a few knives, ammunition and holster.

When Marco leant forward to grab two, he heard somebody behind him whistle.

“That’s a nice collection you have there” Charlie smiled after Marco had swirled around, an angry snort slipping from his lips.

“Don’t sneak up on me, you bastard” he bristled after turning to the car again and Charlie chuckled, leaning in close, his head almost on the Sicilian’s shoulder when he murmured into his ear:

“Terrible sorry. Didn’t thought you’d be startled that easily, sweetheart.”

“Call me sweetheart again and you’re gonna get it, Higgins” was the whispered answer, before he slapped the Irish with the holsters he had just grabbed and the other stepped back, quietly laughing:

“Depends on what _it_ is, I’ll start calling you sweetheart only until I get _it_.”

“Try it” he growled, tossing him one and Charlie caught it, looking the Sicilian in the eyes for a few seconds before he clipped it to his belt:   
  
“I don’t know why, but I somehow believe that _it_ will be pretty much not the stuff I think about … I think I pass this opportunity.”

Marco cocked an eyebrow before he turned around to give Paddy the other one: “Would you look at that, you are not as stupid as it seems.”

Charlie only grinned when he walked past him to his brother, whispering: “For now, sweetheart ~” and the only reason Marco didn’t kick him off the lift was that the last thing they needed now was more trouble.

“So, spotted anything?” the Irish asked Lorenzo who nodded: “Spotted the first two cameras and also about three people inside the building; I suppose it are actually way more but they are only on the second floor, so I am pretty sure we’ll find something there.”

“You have pretty good eyesight” Charlie first said after he had tried to spot the camera as well but couldn’t find a thing. As Lorenzo didn’t answer he sighed and hunkered down beside him: “So what’s the plan exactly? We take care of the cameras and of everyone in our way as quick as possible so that nobody will suspect a thing and as soon as we find either them or one of the English, we leave?”

“Not exactly; We take care of it all, yes, but our subordinates will follow us close after – we don’t want to kill somebody so even though we knock them out, we need back up.”

“We always need back up” Charlie murmured before he got up: “How do we get down? I mean, without being seen?”

“With help of the surroundings and a tad bit of skill, Signore” Marco grinned, standing beside his brother: “There are plenty of shrubs all around the building, it’ll be easy …”

He turned around and looked at Paddy.  
After a second, all did.

And after five more seconds, Paddy sighed and rubbed his eyes with his right hand: “I can duck, you know? Trust me, I wouldn’t have survived 24 years in this damn business if I would have been too stupid to hide.”

“Nobody talked about stupidity, you are just kind of handicapped because of your mere size, old man” Charlie gave back and the twins just sighed after looking at each other.

“I don’t think we should waste any more time and just get going, praying for luck” Lorenzo said and got up, walking over to the car again, this time to the backdoor.

A few seconds later he came back with another ballistic knife: “You’ll need one, too. Who am I allowed to give it?”

“Me!” it came from both of the Irish, causing them to look at each other and that the twins had to hold their laughter back.

“Fight it out” he snorted and threw it in between them, the knife getting stuck in the ground.

“That was childish” Marco whispered after Lorenzo had walked over to him, his brother only grinning at him: “Exactly their level then.”

“We can go, what’s the way?” Paddy wanted to know just a few moments later – Charlie was too busy with pouting and glaring at the older man before he followed Marco’s arm pointing at some shrubs and trees nearby: “There’s a beaten path beneath them. We’ll get down there, take care of the first camera and enter the building, part our ways and that’s it.”

“What if one finds what we are looking for?” Paddy asked further. “How do we inform the others?”

“Phone” was the short answer of the other three and Lorenzo tossed Charlie his phone, who cocked an eyebrow, but wrote his number in their contacts without complaint.

“Keep it, you might need it one day” he commented smirking when he gave it back to the Sicilian.

“I highly doubt that” Lorenzo snarled and put it back in his pocket.

“ _Now_ , just wait a bit Mister Bontade” was all the other hummed before walking over to the path they had pointed out.

“Well then, let’s get going gentlemen!”  
  


* * *

 

“This bullshit electronics, is there not even one reliable thing in this world” Robert growled when he tapped the laptop keyboard several time but it did nothing to the black screen of the first square.

But then he shrugged; it wasn’t his business after all, one of the others should go look after -

Another square went black. Another one right after it.

When the fourth and last one of the outside cameras went out, Robert knew there was somebody messing with them.

“If it’s those stupid Irish, I swear I will kick their arses personally” he said to himself before pressing the button on his headset: “One of you better get their arse down in to the ground floor! Jones, Taylor, Williams, you’ll do it and check the cameras one to four and the rest of you better look if something’s going on outside.”

He knew it was already too late, when he only heard “Yes Sir!” eight times instead of nine.

“Dear lord, I hope they drowned already” Robert groaned, pressing another button: “Hey! Lewis, King, you two better tell me that the job is done!”

The bad quality of Lewis’ high voice made him cringe and he wished that the connection would have been better. Or that Lewis’ voice wouldn’t be so obnoxious.

“Well, there are a few technical problems, but they’ll be solved in no time, Sir!”

“Technical – You better solve them! Right away! What have you done for the last hours?!”

“Sir, I am –“

“Get back to work” Robert growled.

He didn’t thought Lewis voice could get even more squeaky: “Yes Sir!”

Could he not be surrounded by idiots just once? Why was it always his turn to get the gits and stupids whenever it was something important like this?

“In the end, you have to do it all by yourself if you want it to be done right” were Robert’s final words before standing up and getting out of the room, carefully looking to both sides of the hallway first, but nobody was there yet.

“Sir, we heard some suspicious noises from the left hallway, things will be done in a minute” was the report from Taylor and although Robert liked it because of it simple and positive content, he agreed that it would be done in a minute for other reasons.

He whistled sharply, paying one look back into the room.

All the ground floor cameras were out except for one, the two in the staircase were also still –

The first one of the staircase went black.

“Sir?”

When he turned around to see only 5 men, he was not surprised but pissed nonetheless.

“They’re at the staircase and if it’s the Irish I want them captured, not even injured, get me?” he growled with a bored undertone, only pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the staircase.

“Yes, Sir!” was the response by his subordinates before they went past him and Robert looked into the room again.

All of the cameras had gone out.

“Then this is already done” he sighed and pressed the button on his headset again: “They are up here, go look for them, two of you stay at the staircase.”

Then he got his gun out from its holster and released the safety catch, listening for noises.

Footsteps at the staircase, those noises were his men. Otherwise it was completely silent.

_What are you playing here? Hide and Seek? I know what you want._

Footsteps from the right hallway. Could be his men. Could be the enemy.

_And you sure as hell won’t find it here._

Leaving footsteps from the right hallway. The chances were higher now that it was the intruders.

The complete silence kicked in again. Robert could only hear his own shallow breathing and then his heart beat, when it sped up.

Silence. No noises. But the feeling that it was just a thick, soundproof layer over a giant storm turned him on, made the adrenaline running through his veins and a grin creeping on his face.

_Hold your breath down, be professional … A successful hunter never lets himself get carried away._

To be honest, right now he wanted to walk around, looking for them, slipping into the role of the chaser, but it was not the right time.

He wasn’t supposed to look for them; He was supposed to wait for them.

“Sir, somebody’s coming up the stairs!” his headset interrupted and he cringed, almost barking at his men through it before he heard footsteps from the left side, yelling, a gunshot and then the sound of something heavy falling to the ground. Two times.

“You all are better not dead, otherwise I won’t have the chance to carpet you bloody twats” was Robert’s pissed off comment before he pulled his phone out of his pocket; he couldn’t risk that the headset wouldn’t work over such a distance.

“What’s it, Bailey?” the person on the other end of the phone droned.

“Well, I’m fucked.”

“Please, for the love of god, there is a time, place and a person to tell intimate details” was the answer from Rashid and Robert wished he could slap him right now

“We have a problem because these morons are cleverer than we thought, just get your arse back here!” he barked before hitting decline and hearing noises from the right hallway.

The next moment a knife flew past his left ear and hit the wall with a disgusting sharp sound.

And he heard the giggling from around the corner, no matter how quiet it was supposed to be and his shock turned into anger within a second.

Robert swirled around and yelled: “Be a man and face me, you bloody poof! I’ll give you a real chance since you can’t even hit me from a few meters away!”

There was silence for a short time, before Higgins peeked around the corner: “That was not very nice, Robert.”

His head disappeared before he came into the hallway, standing exactly in the middle, just a few meters away from Robert, a really tired look on his face: “And who ever said I wanted to hit you?”

“Good excuse, but I believe your aim is just too shitty. Cut the dramatic crap, you are lucky you even got this close to my head.”

“Dear lord, if I would have hit your head, would the damage have been so serious? There’s nothing in it.”

“Could have said the same about you, I should probably shoot between your legs since that is what you think with.”

“Either you just pulled a very stupid, sexist joke in general or making it all about my sexuality again, either way it’s not funny.”

“I find the whole situation not funny” O’Neill joined the conversation, stepping behind Higgins. He looked at Robert: “Where are they.”

The question didn’t sound like one, more like a demand and Robert had to grin again.

“You mean O’Connel and Vento? Who knows …” he shrugged. “Probably off the hooks by now. Well, not yet, but I think your precious boss is going home in a box.” The rage on Higgin’s face just spurred him on further: “You’ll maybe never even find his corpse.”

The Englishman sighed amused: “What did you expect? You come here and I tell you everything! I mean, what made you think I would?” His voice had an almost pitiful tone now: “What do you broke people have to make me?”

“Broken bones” Higgins snarled. “Or would you prefer selling your soul and boss over it? Cause all I heard in that last sentence was ‘mimimi, I’m a greedy bitch’!”

“Charlie-“ O’Neill started, but Robert interrupted him with his reply for Higgins:

“Oh no, I don’t want your money. I simply wanted to say that you HAVE nothing. No money to run your sorry company, not nearly enough men to run your sorry company and no boss to run your sorry company – not anymore at least. And what’s left now is an old sod and a little useless bitch, back against the wall.”

“You are the one with the back against the wall!” Higgins shouted back. “Face it, the thing you are doing here is last man standing!”

That comeback was so silly and desperate, the Englishman let a half-suppressed laugh slip through his lips, spitting out an “Is that so” before completing it with an actual but small laugh and a sigh.

“Then I will stand my ground until the end!” he said, pointing his gun at the Irishman.

“I won’t let myself get taken down by somebody like _you!_ ”

The former aggressive smile turned into an amused and despising grin:

“Who am I to lose against a useless poof like you who can’t even properly take care of their boss! Gay people just aren’t made for that kind of job!”

“You are a giant dick for that kind of comment, you know that?” somebody behind him called and Robert turned around only to see those two obnoxious Sicilian twins.

One of them played with a headset by throwing it upwards and catching it with the same hand over and over again.

It looked like the ones the English were using.

Before he could spit out a “You little bastards” a gunshot cut through the scenery and so did the following scream.


	9. Turning Tides

Sophie really liked Ian, he was so nice and helpful and cute. And he had a car to make her batteries work again.

“And you are sure you want to spend the night here, without electricity?” he asked while connecting Soph’s Batteries to the one of his car.

Soph sat on the stairs to her caravan again, thoughts more occupied with the phone call she was about to place in a few minutes than with her surroundings.

What If he wouldn’t answer the phone? What if the phone call would get them into trouble? What if she would get to hear that things aren’t alright? What if-

“Sophie!” Ian’s voice made her cringe and loose balance, flailing her arms couldn’t save it either so she ended up beside the stairs in the grass.

“I am sorry” he said when he got over to help her, but she had already sat up with a wave of her hand towards him: “It’s fine, not your fault.”

When she got up and checked herself for that she probably fell into sheep shit, he sighed and rubbed the back of his head, one hand on his waist: “I just … I just think it wouldn’t hurt you to sleep one night at our house.”

She raised an eyebrow: “Because I have no electricity.”

“Because you seem troubled. I mean, I saw you sitting on the meadow the whole day and … That’s it.”

Soph stopped patting the dirt off her bum and looked at him: “Wait, wait wait, how do you know that I sat outside all the time …?”

“I went for a walk with Lady this morning and then later again and you still sat there like a bump on a log” he explained.

Soph exhaled relieved, before she started giggling, slightly blushing as well: “Oh! That makes sense! Oh dear lord, I … I was so stupid, damn it” she said a bit confused and more to herself but before she could carry on her monologue he added:

“And it really makes me wonder what thought could keep you busy like this. I am a bit worried, to be honest.”

“Ian, I am … I didn’t think you would worry for me. I mean … Sorry. It’s just one of these days. They’ll pass, just wait until my brother calls!” she ended with a fat grin and Ian smiled, not a happy one though.

“Oh I see. Then I’ll … I’ll just take care of the batteries” he said with a now bashful smile and went back to work but turned around one last time, Soph already having her phone in her hand: “When will he call?”

“Uh, every minute! I’d like to have a talk with him in private, so I’ll go to sheep okay? I’ll be back soon!” were her last words before she disappeared behind the corner of her caravan – only to peek around one more time: “And if you are done with the battery don’t bother waiting, you know. It is pretty late already and I don’t want to steal your time any further.”

She smiled: “Thank you for fixing, too.”

“No problem” he murmured with a faint smile when she was already on her way to the stable, the footsteps sounding like soft thuds on the ground.

She almost ran into the door, too nervous to even focus only on gross motor skills, opening the stable door took her three tries as well and the moment she stumbled in and slammed the door shut, her phone slipped out of her hand, making her let out a frustrated, muffled scream accompanied by panicked wiggling of her arms and hands.

“Please didn’t go out, please didn’t – OH THANK GOD!”

Not caring that a few of her sheep were now baaing, she wiped the dust off the device and unlocked the screen, directly going into the contacts of her phone and hitting Charlie’s number.

But instead of pressing it to her ear she only stared at it.

‘Dialling’ it said on the screen right beside ‘His Gayesty’, how she had written him in her phone, and above the picture of him from last Halloween when he had dressed up as pharaoh mummy.

She should have put him on speaker to hear him, she should have hit decline, should have done something instead of just staring down at the phone, her head completely empty.

Well, not completely empty. Not empty at all. The corners of her mind filled up with thoughts, whispering things she couldn’t make out, she simply knew they _were there_.

_You got them in trouble. You shouldn’t have done this. You risked something, your fault, you put them into danger, risk, death._

It took her a second to realize that her call had been answered and the fear of not knowing won over the mess in her head.

“Soph?” she heard Charlie’s words, honestly concerned but also stressed, when she put the phone to her ear.

“Charlie!” she managed to spit out. “Are you all okay?!”

“Oh Soph, of course we are, of cou - OUCH!”

Not only did she hear some things or people bumping into something, but also the groan of another deep, familiar voice.

“Was that Paddy?” she asked hopefully, clenching her other hand into a fist to _somehow_ control the adrenaline flooding through her body. “Where’s Harry?”

“Harry’s a little unavailable at the time, sheep” Charlie explained. “And so are we actu – OH BLOODY HELL – we are busy too, will call you back when we got time, okay? Thank you sunshine, bye” were his last words, being said rushed and somewhat relieved.

“No, don’t go” she whispered but received no answer and with a frustrated moan she put her phone down before ending the call as well and sitting down on the stairs to the hayloft, not knowing if she should start screaming or crying.

“I wanted to be comforted by this call! I wanted to hear everything’s alright!” she said in a brittle voice, one hand pinching her hair, the other only pressing her phone against her head, teeth grid and eyes squeezed shut.

“I didn’t want to feel like I’ve been lied to! I didn’t want have such blurry answers!”

She stopped pulling and pressing, just staring at the ground and croaking: “I just wanted to feel safe, I just wanted you to be safe and I just wanted to be … sure.”

But now she was left here on her own, confused and even more worried, and somehow doubting she would get any sleep tonight.

Unless …

Her feet still made soft thudding sounds with every step but it took her so much longer to get to the caravan than it had to get her to the stable.

Ian sat on the stairs when she finally got there, phone still in her hand and a sad look on her face.

“Can I sleep at your house? Is the offer still open?”  
  


* * *

 

“I don’t have to be straight to shoot straight.”

Charlie’s words were the only audible thing beside Robert’s pained wheezes and hisses, he was writhing on his knees and blood was dripping from his now half torn away ear.

Charlie made a few steps forward, putting his gun back in the holster after he locked it and the Englishman only stared at him, eyes wide open, filled with hatred and anger. One hand on his ear, he tried to reach for the Irish with the other but had to curl it into a fist instead, his body trying to cope with the pain.

Charlie slightly bent down to him, staring right into Robert’s eyes with an equal amount of rage in his: “And don’t you dare to say I have a shitty aim again. This was a warning shot.”

He kicked away the gun, which had fallen out of Robert’s hand, and leant in even closer to him:

“I want you to remember it! I want it to hurt!”

He grabbed Robert’s collar and said in a steady, low voice: “I want everyone to see what happens when one can’t stop talking narrow-minded bullshit!”

The fingers dug harder into the fabric and he was so close, Robert actually attempted to get a bit more space between their faces, even raised his hand but Charlie slapped it away that the sound of it resounded in the empty hallway:

“A warning shot. May it warn everyone who happens to know us two that I am not one to fuck with.”

“You can actually knock him out” Lorenzo hummed amused from the other end of the hallway and Charlie cocked an eyebrow, still looking the English in the eyes.

“We don’t need him anymore, so if it brings you pleasure, go on” Marco added, making the Irishman grin like a cat now.

“Bloody arsehole” Robert managed to hiss at him before gritting his teeth again and Charlie let go, standing up straight, swinging his leg and kicking the other man particular hard into the stomach.

“Then lead us, gentlemen” he said happily and carefree, picking up the gun on his way over to the Sicilians when Paddy came out of the small room beside Robert. Charlie hadn’t noticed him going inside until he spoke up:

“You have a little aggression problem, don’t you Robert?” he asked after coming back into the hallway, Laptop under his arm and a knife in his hand.

“Tell that your puppy who just shot me, O’Neill” Robert coughed out for a reply as he got his feet again. He leant against the wall with his hand still on his ear, the other on his stomach.

“The ‘puppy’ just did what was fair! Isn’t it my fault that you are all bark and no bite!” was Charlie’s share to the conversation and Paddy wanted to add something, playing with the knife in his hands -

“Wait, where do you got this from?!”

But jumped when the twins yelled synchronously across the hallway and he looked at them in surprise: “The knife?”

“That’s Michele’s!” Lorenzo stated and both of the Sicilians glared at Robert, who was still troubled enough by the pain, yet managed to throw back an annoyed look:

“Fucking guess, you brats. Want to keep ‘em as souvenir? Can stick ‘em on his grave instead of flowers – if you even will have a grave.”

The first hit was aimed at his face and you actually had to give Robert credit for blocking that because the twins had made the few meters over to him incredibly fast and he even could prevent the hit Marco tried to land his stomach – but he didn’t pay attention to Lorenzo kicking him in the crotch.

“Ouch” Charlie let out while the twins got the other knives from the room, Paddy having already given them the one he had.

“He did deserve it after all” was the growled response from the two and Charlie felt like kicking the moaning Englishman lying on the ground to emphasise his following words but was clever enough to not do it, fearing he’d pull some sort of power back up because of his anger:   
  
“I did not say that he didn’t deserve it, I am simply saying – Ouch.”

“And I swear to god, Signore Higgins!” Lorenzo started when he quickly made it out of the room and past the two Irishmen, followed by Marco:

“If you don’t stop with stupid flirting, you are next! And now get going!”

“Don’t threat me with stuff like that, you don’t want to damage what you might need later” Charlie murmured annoyed under his breath, quickly following them and Paddy. But when he was just about to go around the corner, he heard Robert’s dirty, yet a bit sore laughter and simply had to turn around.

“What is it, arsehole?!” he shouted, voice as pissed off as before and the Englishman, who had managed to sit up by now, although bending over because of his injuries, just grinned onto the floor; it was not a pretty grin for sure, more like pained grimacing:

“As if you would still have a chance. You just don’t know how to handle these kinds of situations, you bloody beginner. Can’t you fucking hear how your time is running out? Tick tock, tick tock … You have already wasted too much by shooting me in the first place.”

Now he managed to look at the other and Charlie had to gulp, yet still being enough in his mind to resist Paddy trying to get him away.

Blood ran down on the left side of Robert’s face and he looked like the Cheshire cat, something like cursed- and probably even madness in the dark, deep, blue eyes:

“Who said that it wasn’t the plan from the start to distract you so that your boss dies in the meantime?”

Before Charlie’s brain could process a thought regarding this other than _I fucked up, I ruined it all_ , Paddy pulled him close with his free hand and looked him right in the eyes:

“Charlie! You heard him so GET – GOING!”

And even though the older man had to drag him for a few steps, he snapped out of his paralysis, starting to run down the stairs on his own and looking for the twins.

“I hope for them that they don’t leave without us!” he called and grabbed the edge of the corner to get around it quicker, jumping down the last steps and over one of the now tied up English, who were guarded by the Sicilian subordinates. It was also one of the subordinates who made a surprised, actually almost scared face when Charlie tossed him Robert’s gun with the warning: “Careful, it’s not locked!”

“If they did, then we’ll just steal a damn car” Paddy snarled and Charlie turned around while running, knowing the front door was lying ahead and the sudden change of ground would probably make him fall:

“GTA Style, heh? Should work since the whole city already drives like they’re in a video game without rules.”

“But _I_ am driving because we are actually not in some game and can’t just restart if -“ Paddy started but the younger one ran out of the door and fell onto his back, making a backward role on the ground, ending up on his face and knees – right in front of Marco, who already sat behind the wheel of one of the estate cars their men had driven to get here.

The Sicilian cocked an eyebrow, his face having a kind of impressed look:

“That was fucking clumsy, but nice bum you got there.”

Charlie had already lifted his head from the ground when he heard that and stayed, surprised by these words.

Then he beat hard on the ground with an open hand, turning his head around and pointing at him now, yelling:

“Back pockets, my arse! I fucking knew it!”

He jumped on his feet, quickly patting the dust of his legs and adjusted his jacket and hair before scowling at Marco, who only rolled his eyes: “Don’t lie to me, just tell me the truth from the start, that makes it easier for both of us.”

“It would make it easier for all of us if you would get your pretty bum inside this damn car!” Lorenzo bellowed from the passenger seat and Charlie would have pouted again if he wouldn’t have immediately realised in what situation they were in.

“He’s right, get in that comfortably big car” Paddy said like a little child whose wish had been nothing but this car before opening the back door and getting inside, putting the Laptop beside him while Charlie ran around the estate and getting inside as well.

As soon as the doors were closed, Marco hit the gas and the car leaped forwards again, the tyres soon getting a grip on the sandy ground. Within seconds they were back on the actual, yet not really good street and Charlie leant forward to the two:

“Where are we going and how did you two find out where Harry and Vento are?”

“We just”, Marco started and the two grinned at each other, “kindly asked one of the English” Lorenzo finished.

“And gently pressed a gun against his head or caressed his throat with a knife, of course” the Irish commented amused while buckling up.

“Exactly. We made him ask his colleague over the headset where he is” Lorenzo explained and Paddy frowned:

“So there are English where the bosses are at as well?”

“Yes, but why are you asking?” Marco replied. “Who cares if there are more of them. Because who gets in our way now, so close to the goal, better made his last prayer anyways.”

Charlie crossed his legs and looked out the window when the older Irish sighed:

“I agree.” He cracked his knuckles and you could hear the change of mood in his voice if you listened closely: “I really didn’t make it this far to save that boy’s arse to be hold up by a few more of those wimps.”

“Nice spirit, old man” Charlie grinned, glancing over to him and Paddy only grinned back when the other’s phone rang and with a surprised look he got it out of his pocket.

“Soph? Why is Soph calling me?” the younger one murmured confused under his breath, not catching Marco warning “Buckle up, it’s gonna get turbulent from here” and answering the call instead.

“Soph? What’s it?” he asked, still mentally going over every reason she could have to call him. That no sound came from the other side wasn’t a good sign as well, what if–

“Soph?” he asked again, concerned and stressed, luckily getting an answer now:

“Charlie! Are you all okay?!” she said hurriedly and it was all Charlie needed to calm down.

“Oh Soph, of course we are, of cou – OUCH!” He had to end his sentence midway when they got thrown around again due to Marco’s driving style and the demolished roads.

“Oh goddammit, I need a bloody chiropractor when all of this is over!” Paddy groaned, looking for the seat belt and having one hand on the laptop, which almost fell to the car floor.

“Was that Paddy?” Sophie asked hopefully after Charlie had put the phone to his ear again, so glad it didn’t fall as well. “Where’s Harry?”

“Harry’s a little unavailable at the time, sheep” Charlie answered, looking at the older man whose eyes were filled with concern, just like his own.

“And so are we actu – OH BLOODY HELL – we are busy too, will call you back when we got time, okay?” Without waiting for a reply he ended the call with “Thank you sunshine, bye.”

“Oh Sophie” Paddy sighed quietly. “Oh poor Sophie…”

“Who was that?” Lorenzo said while Charlie put his phone back in his pocket.

“None of your business” the Irish gave back in a cold voice. ”Where are they and when are we gonna be there.”

“Five minutes, ten at most, who is this Soph?” Marco repeated and Charlie grit his teeth, being slightly fed up.

“Somebody to who Harry means a lot. And the other way around, so would you just please concentrate on driving this fucking car.”

The twins exchanged a look which the other two couldn’t quite file but then Marco nodded and engaged the next gear:

“Of course.”

Their route was mainly through smaller streets and the Irish also noticed that the traffic was much more acceptable around this time. Paddy paid a look to his watch.

“Shortly after eleven pm” he mumbled and breathed out deeply, suddenly feeling tired even though the job wasn’t done yet. Harry was still in grave danger and they still had to save him. He didn’t even waste a thought to the option that he might be dead by now, thoughts like these were only counterproductive. He rather thought about the young woman back at home, worried about her brother, and about the young man somewhere, trying to stay alive at all costs. He imagined how Sophie would smile once they’d come home and how Harry would laugh once he was back, both carefree as always.

He thought about the two children he had promised to keep safe and that was motivation enough for not slacking off yet.

“Get ready, we’re almost there” Lorenzo brought him back to reality and Paddy yawned quietly, looking over to Charlie and realized just now how quiet the younger one had been during the ride. He was gazing out of the window, one hand on his gun and the other over his chin and mouth, resting his head on it.

“Charlie?” he asked quietly and the other looked, eyes half lidded:

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“Are you ready?”

Charlie smiled faintly: “Sure.”

“Tired?”

Charlie grinned faintly: “Sure.”

Paddy laughed low and gently boxed his shoulder: “Stay awake for a bit longer, will you?”

“Same goes for you” Charlie countered when the twins stopped in front of a metal fence and when the four got out of the car, the salty smell of the sea hit them with full force.

“Didn’t Robert say something with drowning?” the younger Irish mumbled. “And aren’t we at the harbour here?”

“Were at a warehouse at the harbour” Lorenzo corrected while Marco was already jogging along the fence, trying to find a gap or gate.

“Did they rent that?” Paddy wondered when Marco yelled “Found it!” a few metres away from the three.

“Apparently not” Lorenzo grinned when they walked over to his brother who stood in front of a part where the metal net that made up the fence was lacking.

“They broke in and were stupid enough to leave it open, great, thank god for the stupidity of these British idiots” Charlie grinned, making it inside first, quickly walking over to the building while the others followed him.

“Wait, wait wait wait, blokes” Paddy spoke up and Charlie, who already was climbing the stairs to the door of the warehouse with the joyfully said words “Oh boy, I hope they left the door open as well”, turned around to look at him.

“Do you hear that? The sound of a –“

They heard somebody tripping, falling and swearing around the next corner of the building.

“Idiot. I wanted to say of a motor but that was clearly the sound of an idiot” Paddy ended his sentence, sounding kind of done with the situation, when the twins already sprinted past the two: “We’ll take care of this, you take care of the door!”

“Sounds fair” Charlie mumbled and opened his suit jacket, pulling out a lock pick – then checking if the door was locked in first place, which was the case.

“Okay, then let’s do this” he said, inserting the pick in the lock while the older Irish got the gun from the holster, staring at the corner and listening to the noises coming from there. He could still hear the motor – or a pump? – but also footsteps and fighting noises, curses and – a gunshot, which made his heart skip a beat for a second just like the two in the building had made him cringe. Gunshots always had that effect on him, especially when he couldn’t see them; a bullet was able to decide over a mission’s outcome after all. And a lot more.

And that he heard something falling into the water and something way heavier right after wasn’t giving him a better feeling about the situation either.

“Could you hurry up Charlie? Please?” he said and Charlie sighed stressed: “I am trying, I am trying.”

Some footsteps were coming closer and Paddy now put the gun up, aiming straightforward when a man in shirt and suit trousers came around the corner, a gun in his hand as well. He was tall, 1,90 m probably, but slim and already panting.

“Oi!” Paddy yelled and the man stopped and instinctually put his gun upwards, pointing in the direction the sound came from, but his eyes widened and his hands began to shake when he actually paid a look at the man who yelled at him.

“What’s it?” the Irish asked bored, having noticed the lighter sound of the twins running.

“Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

Charlie frowned and the man decided that he clearly wasn’t hard enough when one of the twins kicked him off his legs anyways and he fell to the ground, not moving once he was lying.

“I think you just accidentally kind of quoted one of our favourite book characters” Charlie commented and Paddy frowned while the Sicilians were checking whether the English guy was dead or not, rolling him on his side.

“Unconscious but alive” Marco stated and Lorenzo threw the gun of him into the harbour.

He continued to frown when he turned to them: “What fell into the water earlier?”

“The colleague of the knocked out beanpole and his gun” Lorenzo grinned like a child who just pulled a successful prank.

“And when he crawled back out, we easily could knock him down and tie him up, just like this one here” Marco added with the same face as his brother.

“Tie him up with what?” Paddy asked sceptically.

“With a great pun” they said synchronously, pointing at their collars and it was just now that the Irish noticed their lacking ties.

“Wow. Clever guys. What about the motor?”

Marco: “Pump, that was it. Pumping water into the building.”

Lorenzo: “It was old and it’s strange it worked at all but we turned it off.”

Paddy thought about it for a second and nodded when Charlie let out a happy “Hah!”, turning to the three downstairs with a grin on his face, before pushing down the door handle and slamming the door open.

The sound of water splashing came from inside.  
  


* * *

 

“Fuck the English and fuck this damn box!” Harry ranted while kicking upwards again, his foot meeting wood, which was pretty unimpressed by that.

Michele snuffled, exhausted already but pleased with the fact that the cute Irish was sitting between his legs. That they had come up with that solution only after both of them had almost kicked the other in the face several times was the not so pleasant part about it, just like their plan to simply destroy their prison wasn’t as easy as the two had hoped.

But it was the only thing they could do at all, so he pulled his leg out of the still incoming water, so high by now half of the box was filled, and tried as well but all he did was stubbing his toes for the he didn’t know what time.

“How about we just wait for help?” he muttered frustrated, putting his arms around the other’s waist, who was so surprised by it that he stopped hitting the top with his elbow, and pulled him closer.

“They’ll come and save us and all is well. I trust my boys” he said and nodded, totally satisfied with his brilliant solution, and Harry put his hands on the Sicilian’s, shoving them away abrasively:

“Really Michele? That’s your plan, stay here and just _hope_ not to drown?”

He continued to work on the wood with his elbows but didn’t move away from Michele, god knew why because the Irish didn’t.

“I am just putting trust into my family, you should, too” Michele countered and Harry rolled his eyes, putting his hands on the other’s knees to relax his arms for a short time:

“If I am dying in here, Soph will never let me hear the end of it and she is annoying enough when she is not mad at me.”

He sighed and started to kick upwards again, moving away from the Sicilian: “And if Charlie saves me, finding out I sat in here waiting for them like a damsel in distress, he’ll never let me here the end of _that_ , which is bloody unacceptable.”

Michele laughed loudly: “You have funny reasons to stay alive, Harry.”

“I have practical reasons to not give up fighting” was the short answer. “And didn’t you admit that you haven’t been very professional? You can start making up for it with helping me getting out of this DAMN THING! OH COME ON!” he shouted, throwing punches against the upper side of the ‘damn thing’. “You bloody English wankers can’t properly tie us up but of course, this fucking shitty box is made out of titanium!”

Michele only sighed, letting his hands sink into the water again, wincing as his cuts burned. But when his fingers touched the ground, he got an idea.

“Harry, Harry, Bello, come here” he babbled and tried to grab his arms, which took him two tries of fishing for them in the dark, but in the end he was able to guide his hands to the ground with the nice bonus of putting his own hand on Harry’s. Could one count this as holding hands? The Sicilian did and moved on to telling what he had just discovered: “Do you feel that?”

“Wet wood, the discovery of the century, great Michele, wow, cookie for y-“

“Try to scratch it.”

Harry sighingly did, his nails scraping the wooden floor, leaving bumps in it –

“Okay, what’s the plan, turning the box around and working on the floor?” he asked snickering and Michele smiled at that. Yes it sounded nasty and wrong but he liked it. Because most of all, it was full with love for life.

“I must correct myself, I guess” he said quietly and Harry frowned: “What the hell, we just – “

“No, not about the box, I’ll help turning it around in a second, I have to correct myself about you. That wasn’t fire in your eyes, it was … wow, I can’t even find words to define that” he sighed amused. “But I think sunshine comes closest. Nothing so raging and devouring as fire, but heart warming and peaceful sunshine.”

“That was so … yeah, so fucking sappy I have no words” Harry spit out and Michele grumbled:

“Call it whatever you want, I am not denying that you need a flaming sun for a sweet sunshine, so just let us use your fiery determination to get out of this box.”

He made a face: “Eww, I admit that I sound awfully much like a bad romance novel.”

“Admitting your faults is the first step towards self-improvement” the Irish said and was prepared to _finally_ turn this box around, but _not_ for the Sicilian suddenly kissing his neck.

“You’re right, I should just say that I maybe fell in love with you” Michele whispered and Harry felt the blood rush into his head again, the clear thoughts entirely disappearing from his brain, everything one single mess up there now.

_Fell in love …? Fuck, don’t do this to me! My body’s acting crazy anyways, I am puzzled why I am not angry with you touching me like that, god, just stop! Not in a situation like this! Not somebody like you! **I am not questioning my sexuality in a fucking wooden box, where I was left to drown, because of an obnoxious Sicilian!**_

“I am flattered that you are stunned like that by my words, but you wanted to get out of the box, bello?” Michele interrupted this mental train wreck.

Harry shook his head and rubbed his neck, accidentally elbowing the other in the face:

“Ou.”

“Sorry. But yeah, I want to get out of this box, Romeo, so would you be kind enough to lean against the right side with all your weight? Because if you didn’t notice, the water almost reached our chests by now.”

“Huh, right, better hurry up then. I count to three, then we’ll do it.”

“Good – wait” Harry stopped. “Let me sit down on the other side again, will be more effective if I don’t sit … between … your legs” he ended that sentence fast after shaking his head again, trying to get rid of any thoughts regarding the Sicilian and feelings. He could deal with that or bury it in the deepest and most abandoned corners of his mind after they got out of this, so he just crawled back to his original place and sat down, his legs bent that they didn’t lie between the other’s.

“I’m ready” he said and Michele nodded:

“One … two … three!”

Both of them threw their bodies against the wooden planks right to them but the only thing it caused to move was the water.

“Again” Harry coughed after he had spit the water out that had gotten in his mouth, his fringe now sticking to his face like the hair at the back of his head already did.

The saltwater made his wound from the knocked out tooth burn sharply.

“One … two … three!”

This time Harry leant to the other side first to gather momentum, internally cursing that it was so hard to move in this thing, then rammed his shoulder against the wood – and he felt it tipping.  
  
“Once more! Oh boy, I can’t believe this is working!” Harry cackled happily and leant to the side already: “One, two, three!”

And the box tipped again, but it didn’t tip _over_.

“Don’t be too happy, we have to be quick once we turned it around” Michele said, trying to lower the other’s mood a bit. “We only survived this long anyways because the water stopped from time to time, letting air into the box. And we don’t want to suffocate, now do we?”

Although he couldn’t see the other, he literally felt Harry’s unimpressed stare for a few seconds before the other looked away:

“If death comes to get me after I made it this far, he can kiss my bloody arse” was his answer, a grin swinging within and Michele had to laugh again.

_Maybe? I fell in love like a teenage boy, maybe my ass. If we’re going to get out of this alive, I swear, I won’t hold myself back._

“Okay, get ready” the Sicilian sighed relieved, leaning to the other side as well this time:

“One … two … three!”

They threw themselves against the box’s wall and this time, it tipped over, the water inside going crazy and burying them since they laid on their sides now.

After they had managed to sit up again, puffing and blowing out the horribly tasting liquid, the two definitely looked like strays left in the rain but they didn’t care; Harry’s body was flooded by adrenaline because their plan worked and Michele had been infected by his good mood, not caring that the air was something they shouldn’t waste when their laughter, and coughing as soon as the water got in their mouths, filled the box.

“Eureka!” the Irish cried out, putting his hands over his eyes and choppily breathed in a few times.

“All good things come in twos, are you okay Harry?” the Sicilian giggled, sweeping a wet streak of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Harry nodded and it took him a bit to realise that the other couldn’t see that, therefore adding a “Of course, what about you? Ready to get out of here?”

“Sí. One … two … three” he counted once again with his deep, yet so soft voice and the other blamed the lack of oxygen and the overdose of hormones in his body for having thoughts like that it was the most beautiful voice he had ever listened to, leaning to the left again for gaining momentum.

It only took them one try this time, the waves of the water breaking over them again and Harry choked on it, having serious trouble catching his breath this time.

“You should have shut your mouth” was Michele’s only comment and the Irish was about to snap at him for it but realised early enough that he had referred to the coughing fit.

“Whatever. Now we only need to break the top and there we go. Free at last.”

“Sure.”

Harry furrowed his bushy brows: “Sure? Is something wrong?”

Michele shook his head: “Don’t want to waste air. Let’s do this.”

But instead of doing this, they just sat there in silence and the Sicilian felt the weight of it again, heavy on his chest and temples. The thought of closing his eyes was enticing, the thought of resting for a few minutes, but he knew that there was no time for that in reality. Although it would give him way more motivation if the Irishman wouldn’t be silent as well and Michele wondered if he had similar things going through his head.

He sort of took it as a yes when a quiet “Fuck, I am tired” slipped from Harry’s lips and he laughed. It was a small laugh, it was a weary one and it was one that only broke you down a tad more.

But water was splashing again and Michele stared surprised in the dark, the other’s breath speeding up audibly.

“Tired of sitting in this box” the Irish snarled and the sound of something heavy against wood chased the silence away.

“Boy, much more comfortable” he grinned, kicking forcefully against the top once more and even if it sounded ridiculous, creaking wood was a heavenly noise to the two men.

“I-It works! Oh it works!” Michele laughed, weird but soothed this time, and Harry cackled, hearing the other whispering in Italian, a prayer or just a little talk to himself probably.

“It didn’t work until we broke it o-“ he started but the foot of the Sicilian already crashed against the box, and the Irish broke into uncontrolled giggling.

“Jesus Christ, I think I am slowly losing my mind” he snorted during half-heartedly placing a kick while Michele unsuccessfully tried to use his shoulder, successfully and accidentally bumping his head though.

“Can’t deny that the last minutes in here have been quite an emotional rollercoaster ride, bello” he chuckled while rubbing his head and for a few seconds Harry allowed himself to get messed up in the head again, the words _I maybe fell in love with you_ echoing inside.

“I think I have more adrenaline in my body than an Olympic finalist, yeah” he sighed happily and looked upwards. Just one more hit, he just needed to raise his arm once more and let his elbow hit the soaked planks and they’d be free, he’d be alive and could wrap his arms around Sophie once more when they were back in Ireland, just one more –

Without realising it, Harry had just cracked the top open and mindlessly he kept going, one hit and bursting wood, two hits and bursting wood, three hits and bursting wood, more water coming from above. And exactly that was what let the Irish snap out of his paralysis.

“Quick! Don’t stop, help me, we need to rip the planks away before the-“ _box is filled up_ was how Michele wanted to end the sentence when water got into his mouth and he decided that getting out of here was more important than telling the other to do it.

His fingertips ran over the top, finding the spot where the Irish had managed to crack it open and pressed upwards, first his hands then his arms and at last his entire upper back, feeling his lungs starting to burn and wishing to spit out the water in his mouth but it had reached his throat on the outside by now and he knew it would be pointless. He could take a deep breath once he was out of here.

But suddenly the wood felt so strong and hard and with every second he felt weaker, unconsciousness sneaking up closer and closer to him …

Michele Vento, most important Mafia Boss of whole Sicily, dying right in front of the finish line. This was so stupid he would have screamed if he wouldn’t be suffocating and couldn’t care less about everything including his surroundings.

He didn’t notice that the pressure on his upper half got lifted at first, he didn’t really notice anything until somebody grabbed his collar, pulling him upwards and slapping him.

While the Sicilian was now choking on the water he had swallowed due to this, Harry panted and looked at him, his eyes starting to make out schemes again in the pale moonlight falling through a window.

“Did we … did we make it?” Michele coughed dry and the Irish smiled: “Yes… Yeah, we are not about to drown anymore. I guess that counts as making it.”

For a few seconds they just sat there and looked at each other, getting used to being able to see something again.

“God, we need to get out” Harry suddenly said and ‘jumped’ on his feet – only to lose balance when he was standing and falling over the edge of the box into the tank they apparently had spent the last hours in.

The Sicilian burst in laughter when he heard a door scratching over the floor and turned his head around to look at where the sound came from, grabbing the box edge and lifting himself up, still holding onto it so he wouldn’t fall like Harry.

The person appearing in the door frame, lighted by a street lamp and the moon, looked familiar to him so it couldn’t be one of the English. No, it clearly was one of Harry’s Bodyguards, the smaller one with the messy-on-purpose hair.

Speaking of Harry and messy hair, his ginger one was sticking to his head and water was running down his skin when he put his hands next to the other’s, the green eyes almost glowing in the dark, a nice fair contrast to his red cheeks and forehead, although they were half lidded while he tried to steady himself.

_I won’t hold myself back._

“You look like you’re short of breath” Michele whispered and leaned in a closer to the man opposite to him. “Care if I help out with a little mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?”

He closed his eyes and gently placed his lips on Harry’s, his heart almost skipping a beat out of happiness when the other didn’t back away.

It wasn’t a fierce kiss, rather an innocent one, but it lasted long, the few seconds feeling like an eternity for Michele, tasting the water and even the blood from an hour ago on the Irish’s lips, and oh, they were so soft, he just had put a little more pressure, still tamely and – was he kissing back? Or was the Sicilian just feeling it for a second before he broke the kiss because he wanted him to respond?

Harry stared at the man in front of him, his face suddenly so close and although it was so dark in here, he could make out details. It was like his senses had become hyper aware of Michele’s presence.

The golden eyes.

His tanned skin.

The frilly fringe, now soaked and this weird curl on the left side.

_Well, what do I need to do to get a smile on this pretty face of yours?_

_But yes, if you had said knocking him out, I would have gone for a kiss._

_Your laughter sounds so full of heart._

_This must also hurt terrible._

_Nothing so raging and devouring as fire, but heart-warming and peaceful sunshine._

_You’re right, I should just say that I maybe fell in love with you._

Why his brain had to dig up all those sentences said by the Sicilians now? No clue.

No explanation, not for what was going on in his head nor for grabbing Michele’s collar and pulling him into another kiss, clumsy, a lot harder and a second shorter than the one before, yet it felt so right, so good to both of them.

They would have stared in silence afterwards for sure, eyes locked with each other, both way too bewildered to do something - if somebody wouldn’t have broken into a laughing fit.

Charlie had to grab the handrail of the stairs leading you down to the tanks so he wouldn’t fall over it, his entire body shaking but he managed to get up halfway straight to clap: “Wohoo! N-Nice one!” he snickered.

Paddy, still standing at door, only ran one of his hands through his face but was smiling, too, as far as Harry could make it out from his position.

The twins meanwhile almost pushed Charlie from the stairs when they ran to the tanks, saying something in Italian and Michele had to laugh and nodded, climbing out of the box before walking over to them, the two pulling him out.

Meanwhile Harry was shouting at his best friend: “What’s so funny arsehole?!” and Charlie cracked up again, even harder this time.

“Well, it is nice to see you alive and healthy and”, he grinned and the other quickly got out of the box to knock it off this damn wanker’s face, “enjoying yourself with a hottie.”

“I am flattered” Michele smirked when the twins only snuffled annoyed, looking over to the other Irish lifting himself out of the water.

“Are you injured?” Paddy asked, still standing in the same spot when Harry took of his suit jacket, mangling it to get the water out. Suddenly his mouth began to ache, the kiss had distracted him from the unpleasant tingling of the gap.

“Bailey knocked me a tooth out, but apart from that I am okay.”

Charlie and Paddy exchanged a look and Harry cocked an eyebrow, laying the jacket over his shoulder before the older man spoke up:

“Fine then. Let’s get going before the friends of the two blokes out there arrive.”

“There’s not enough room for all of us in the car” Lorenzo commented and Paddy shrugged: “We’ll take a cab. It’s time to part our ways anyways, isn’t it?”

“Or Signore O’Connel just comes sitting on my lap” Michele said under his breath, still loud enough for Harry and the twins to hear it.

“No thank you, I’ll take the cab” the Irish hissed. “As he has said, it’s time to part our ways.”

It was answered with an eye roll: “Suddenly we’re rude. But surely, go to the hotel and get a rest.” The Sicilian leant in to him, a small smirk on his face again: “You’ll need it for thinking about what just happened, don’t you?”

If it wouldn’t be so painfully true and undeniable, he would have slapped Michele with his jacket, now all he did was glaring at him while he made his way upstairs with the twins.

And he was already out of the door when Paddy grabbed the shoulder of one of the twins: “But before we part our ways, I want the laptop.”

They looked at each other, Michele pricking his ears:

“Laptop?” Marco asked.

“What laptop?” Lorenzo added.

“Sorry, we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Indeed, I have no clue what laptop you mean” their boss joined, scowling at the twins.

“A laptop of the English” Paddy buzzed before the two could answer. “I found it and would like to take it with me. Finders keepers, you know?”

“And losers weepers” Marco gave back.

“It’s in our car. Technically we are the finders now” Lorenzo said and both of them turned to Michele, waiting for his decision.

“Is it true?” he asked and they looked away, scratching their heads.

Harry and Charlie were standing behind Paddy now, eyes on him as well.

And the three looked provocative, but still seriously at him, only to add pressure of course. Michele decided that it really suited Harry.

“Give it back, _he_ got it after all, didn’t he?” he ordered and the twins, somewhere between done and disappointed, gave in:   
  
“Of course Boss.”

Once Harry was outside, he paid a fast look to the upwards. But just one second after he did so, he stopped to gaze at the sky for longer.

It was rather clouded, but not so much one could not see any stars, although there weren’t many visible anyway. A really unspectacular sky, to be honest. Average. Usual.

Actually … it was perfect – The clouds, the moonlight, the few stars …

“Frecky, I am sorry to interrupt whatever kind of moment you’re just having, but dawdling is not the best thing to do right now” Charlie called and Harry hurried over to the others, just noticing how nasty and cold his clothes felt.

Especially while they waited on the sidewalk for Paddy to come back from the Sicilians.

“Oi, Frecky?”

“What’s it now, Charlie?”

His friend wrapped his arm around his neck, rubbing the other’s hair with his fist: “It’s good to have you back, safe and noisy as always!”

Both of them laughed and Harry forgot everything else. The kisses. The hours in the box. His tooth. His freezing body. Each one of these things did temporarily not exist when he tried to get out of the headlock his best pal had him in.

“Would you two stop that!” Paddy rebuked the two when he came to them and the younger Irishmen giggled, Charlie letting go of Harry.

“You’re gonna catch a cold” the older man said.

“I won’t.”

“You will catch one, colds don’t care about what you think.”

“I am a grown arse man, if I say I won’t catch one I will not catch one.”

“Stubborn idiot.” He pulled Harry into a one armed but still so warm and tight hug. “I’m so glad we have our stubborn Harry back” he murmured.

He hugged him back.

It was so good to be alive


	10. Coming Home

This car was too small. It could have been a stretch limousine and would have been too small.

Tahir would have been only satisfied once Robert was so far away he couldn’t hear him whimpering and crying anymore, moaning because of his fucking ear. Couldn’t he just pass out because of the blood loss? Then he’d probably lean his head onto Tahir’s shoulder – more like he’d simply fall to the side – but the Londoner could live with that. Other than with the awful sound of Robert gnashing his teeth.

“Could you stop that?” he hissed at him and the blond glared back:

“Stop what.”

“Your complaints. You’re not five years old, be a tad more decent about your hurt.”

_Barbarian idiot_ ran through the Pakistani-Brit’s head when the other came closer:

“My hurt is not a fucking scraped knee, you wanker.”

They stared each other in the eye, rage in the blue and endless annoyance in the green ones:

“But you act like it is one, you crybaby” he snarled. “What’s next, do I have to kiss it better?”

“How about I beat you up and shoot your ear off, then we’ll see how much of an emotionless bitch you can be when it hurts like hell” Robert growled back, so close both of their foreheads touched.

“Rashid, Bailey” their boss called from the front passenger seat.

“You are both being bloody insufferable brats.”

“Apologies, Sir” they answered in sync, sitting up straight again.

And instead of complaining about the sounds from the man beside him, Tahir just dug his nails into the seat. The blond’s thigh would have surely given him more satisfaction than the leather of the car’s inside.

This day had been worse than it was planned anyways; when Robert had called him earlier and said there would be a problem he didn’t thought of a problem like the one awaiting him when he arrived at the abandoned building they had left just a few hours ago.

They hadn’t noticed the cars at first but Tahir had spotted them later, a few metres away, parked on another field way below them.

“That’s how they got here” he muttered under his breath upon finding them and had turned back to what was in front of them.

“Great” he had heard Arthur hiss and had looked at his boss.

He had looked vastly pissed off, but not angry yet. Good.

One of the Sicilians having stood in front of the building had actually pulled the same face, the other two only having ‘distrust’ and ‘contempt’ written in them.

They had known who they are and whenever somebody knew Tahir before he knew them, he was kind of proud. And even if it was just his ‘role’ they hated, the Pakistani-Brit still had been the better ‘actor’ to get it. Those Sicilians were ‘extras’ in the morbid play ‘Organised Crime’ while he grabbed one of the ‘chief parts’. Small moments of superiority like this one were ridiculous and totally unnecessary, but priceless and Tahir always enjoyed them.

“Who of you is in charge of all this _and_ speaks proper English?” he had asked them and the Sicilians had started to discuss, the two Englishman only having caught muttered words in Italian.

One of them had disappeared inside, the one with the annoyed face, the other two had stayed and had continued to throw glares at them.

“I can’t believe it” Arthur had muttered beside him and Tahir had turned to his Boss.

“I can’t believe that these idiots manage something for once. Vento’s Puppies and O’Connels gits, they actually get something done.”

He had looked at the Pakistani-Brit: “Remember me to congratulate them before we let them meet a sticky end as well.”

“Of course, Sir” Tahir had hummed. “I think Bailey is flirting with the idea to kill that obnoxious redhead Higgins for quite a while, Sir.”

“Good, he maybe will have the opportunity to do so, given that he will come out of this bloody house alive.”

_And survive your rage when it is all his fault_ the other had added in his thoughts when somebody stepped outside.

The man had black hair tied to a ponytail and couldn’t be older than Tahir, maybe 28, 31.

“I think you could say I’m in charge of this little mission here” he had grinned, having made the Londoner cringe internally. Although this one had seemed rather unimpressed and friendly, therefore couldn’t be the most loyal one, he had known the next minutes wouldn’t be pleasing. He had to deal with people like this on a daily basis but didn’t like self-possessed jackasses when he was dependent on them or they had the upper hand for the time being.

“Good evening, I think, you got something that belongs to us” he had started and the Sicilian had rubbed his chin:

“Hmm … As far as I am concerned _you_ got something that belongs to _us_.”

The Pakistani-Brit easily prevented himself from rolling his eyes, his eyebrows twitching slightly nonetheless: “I assume you are talking about Michele Vento’s corpse.”

He chuckled slightly: “We know he’s alive.”

Now Tahir breathed in, shallow and shortly, before having carried on: “There are nothing but lying bastards in our business, and we only want our staff and everything that is ours in this place, back. Enough of the hollow talk – Or do you fear the consequences of cheating on a dead man?”

“Do I want to rely on the words of another ‘lying bastard’?”

Tahir had tilted his head to the side, now it had been coming in very handy that he was 10 centimetres taller than the man.

“I think we should change to another language.”

The Sicilian had bit on the inside of his cheek and had looked to the ground before having breathed out a small “heh” and had grinned again, whispering:

“You don’t have enough.”

The Londoner had glanced at the three others in the background.

They had stared, the one with the formerly annoyed face had turned away, while the other two only had glared more intense.

He had leant in a tad closer, having whispered as well: “Do you know how much One million British Pounds are? Certainly no chump change.”

“How much is that in Euro?”

“ _Over_ one million, believe me or not.” Having been said with a blank face and tone, the phrase had an entirely different ring to it. One that made it sound much less like you had a choice.

The other had laughed and Tahir had felt the immediate need to wash his ears:

“Because you took it with you as Just in case money, sure.”

“We are professionals unlike you Sicilian scumbags,” Arthur had joined the conversation, having stepped the volume up a notch. He hadn’t been necessarily louder, but his voice a lot steadier and thicker than the easy going tone of the Sicilian and the Pakistani-Brit’s furtive talk.

“We have it in the car, we’re going to show it to you and you will seal the deal with us.”

Now the grin had disappeared from the man’s face: “Will I?”

“Choose wisely” Tahir had said with the ghost of a smirk. “Do you want to be loyal to a dead man or loyal to yourself?”

“And if you want to use the point that he isn’t even dead, he is. We know it better than you and what would you get if Vento would come back, anyways? Nothing. You would have to work your ass of for years to make the amount of money we are about to give you, being such a small-timer in this company. And Vento won’t come back and the second you will finally realize that, you know you’re fucked and dead by the next sunrise.”

“You talk about that as if you’d know me” the other man said and Tahir almost rolled his eyes, thinking _Everyone who heard your nasty laughter knows what kind of man you are._

Arthur’s stare had turned into a scowl now: “I know that you are the first wanker who I have to convince of taking a ridiculous amount of money and I tell you that I will recognise your face once this is all over and then, god have mercy on you, you better have some starting capital to hide your sorry arse somewhere far away from Europe.”

It had taken the Sicilian only one second to reply: “Show me that you really got the cash and I’ll let your guys go.”

“And we want the cars back too, we know you found them or if you didn’t, you sure as hell won’t call dips on them _now_ ” Tahir had hissed quietly and annoyed when he left to their car.

“Sir, is everything alright? If I am allowed to ask” Varsani had asked him, when he opened the door.

“As far as I am concerned, nothing’s alright” the Pakistani-Brit had admitted under his breath, having caught a mumbled “Told you” from Miah sitting on the backseat.

“But if you are referring to this one particular situation right now” he had smiled at her before having glared at him: “Then everything is alright.”

“Of course, Sir” the young man apologised. “Are you looking for something?”

He had opened the glove compartment and had shoved a few couriers aside, having pulled out a little black box where one usually kept jewellery.

“Do we … do we really need to use this? Sir?” Varsani had asked while Tahir was counting the notes, droning out numbers almost silently.

“Apparently” Miah had sighed and had leaned forward. “But this was our back up, it’s not like we didn’t expect it.”

“Right, but I think all of us would have preferred if this situation would have played out much less troublesome” Tahir had said, having put the money in his suit pocket and having got out of the car.

Once he had been a few steps closer he had noticed that the three other Sicilians had been gone.

“Where is the rest?” he had said, inconspicuously having glanced at his boss, who still had looked like Tahir had left him – eventually inwardly boiling with rage while just looking very grumpy on the outside.

“Inside, talked to them” the Sicilian had replied. “They’re telling the others now.”

“Telling them what?” the Pakistani-Brit had asked and had gotten the wad out of his pocket, holding it close to his side.

“That the tables have turned” he had answered choppily, eyes on the money. “Now I only need that and your guys are free.”

Tahir had held the notes close to his face, having acted like he had examined them: “The tide has turned indeed … I am not too sure if you are not lying to us …”

“Rashid, I hate to say it but it’s not the right time for games now” Arthur chimed in and the Pakistani-Brit had restrained himself from sighing: “Of course, Sir.”

With a “No need to count” he handed it over to the Sicilian, who turned it around a few times, probably never having seen British currency before.

He had started counting and the Londoner had paid another glance to the blond, seeing how he had been kneading the fingers of his right hand behind his back.

“Alright, I’m gonna take care of the rest” the Sicilian had grinned, having looked at them in surprise when a “I’m going to come with you, Mister” had come back from Tahir.

“You don’t trust me?” the man had snarled displeased.

“Of course we do not, bloody hell” Arthur replied, same tone as the other but again way more steady. “But you got the money, you are on the safe side now, aren’t you?”

They just looked at each other for some seconds, the Sicilians eyes wandering back and forth between the two Englishmen, bevor he turned around with a “Tsk!”, gesturing with his hand to follow him.

“Turning his back on us, how unprofessional” Tahir had muttered when the other had spoken up once more:

“Don’t know if I should have mentioned it, but that big blond guy of yours got his ear shot off.”

“Sir, Mister Bailey just passed out” Arthur heard from Miah right after a disappointed sigh from Rashid. When he quickly looked over his shoulder, Bailey’s head was lying onto the other’s shoulder, who also had one hand on the blond’s stomach, making sure he wouldn’t fall over.

“It’s alright, Sir” the Pakistani-Brit reassured him and Arthur turned to the woman behind the wheel: “I think we should hurry up a bit.”

“No kidding, boss” she said, immediately adding “Apologies Sir, I am just a bit nervous right now.”

“No kidding” Arthur mumbled and Varsani bit her lower lip.

“Sir, the others just arrived at the harbour” the young Bangladeshi-Brit reported from the backseat. “Door and box broken open, O’Connel and Vento gone without a trace, Lewis and King found with hands tied up, Lewis supposedly sustained a mild concussion.”

“Tell them to come to the same hospital as we are going” the Londoner instructed, Miah replied “Yes Sir” before doing so and Arthur crossed his arms, leaning back.

Saying that things didn’t go according to plan was an underestimation, saying that he was disgruntled with how it all turned out was an underestimation.

He truly regretted that he didn’t strangle the ginger a few hours ago, he inwardly cursed himself for the stupid idea with the box. He wanted to let them go out with a bang but he realised now that it would have been way better if it had been the bang of a gun.

With a sneer he made a note to himself that it still wasn’t too late for this.  
  


* * *

 

He didn’t understand a word but seemingly the cab driver, who had been warned by Charlie that the cab might get dirty due to the fact that his friend fell into the harbour, was still complaining about it. Or his best friend pouted and rolled his eyes to the high heavens for other reasons.

“So, Frecky-“ he started after another half assed reply for the driver and Harry groaned, very quietly though, while he still looked out of the window:

“Bugger off, Charles.”

“Using my name is rude.”

“So is this bloody nickname and your face” he replied before looking at the other in the front passenger seat: “What’s it?”

“Well, I have quite a few things I could talk about with you, such as” he turned around a bit and Harry leant in when Charlie whispered “that either the cab driver will kill us or I will kill him in the next minutes, jeez” before he put his hand, used as sound protection, down and stopped the whispering “Or how I shot off Robert’s ear-“

“You did WHAT?”

“- but clearly the most important question-“

“Why didn’t you tell me you shot off his ear?!” Harry cut him off and Charlie sighed theatrical: “Frecky, I know that this is just plain awesome and so am I, but autographs and high fives later-“

“Nonono, high five now” the other demanded, getting his other hand from under the suit jacket on his lap and Charlie fulfilled his request.

“Okay, but the question that really needs to be asked and irks all of us” he carried on: “Oh my GOD Frecky, you kissed him, you k i s s e d Vento, how did his lips taste, tell me, how was your first gay experience with this Disney Prince” he said, clinging to the side of the seat with his hands, eyes sparkling with curiosity and joy, while Harry only moaned annoyed:

“Charlie, please!”

“Please what? Please it was so good I can’t describe it? Please he actually isn’t that good?” he asked a bit disappointed.

“Please get out of the car and run over by a truck” Harry answered with a scowl and Charlie groaned: “Frecky, don’t be such a bitch about it!”

“I am not being a bitch about it!”

“Yes you are!”

“It’s you who is asking me all this fucking stuff!”

“Fine, you want a simple question instead?!” Charlie gave back. “Why did you kiss him?”

It got quiet in the cab – except for the upset mumbling of the driver and Harry exhaled heavily, eyes on the ground before running a hand through his hair and turning to the window again: “I … I don’t know. I really didn’t think at all in that moment.”

“So, naturally, your first intuitive reaction is to kiss him back” Charlie grinned, wide at first before it faded to a dreamily one: “Oh Harry …”

“Don’t give me that look, it was just … a stupid, brainless reaction. Caused by all the stress, I almost drowned, give me a goddamn rest” he more or less droned out the last words, leaning back.  
Charlie started humming something and it took Harry around half a minute to figure out, what this familiar sounding song was.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Charlie!” he yelled and threw his jacket at him while the other just sang with great fervour: “You keep on denying who you are and how you’re feeling! Baby we’re not buying, hon we saw you hit the ceiling!”

This was only interrupted by the cab driver who went ballistic and threatened to just throw them out, how Charlie later told the others.

Once it was quiet in the cab and this time for real, Charlie closed his eyes and hummed again: “At least out loud I won’t say I’m in love … “

“Just shut it, goddammit.”

“Frecky please, give me good explanation for the kiss and I will shut it.”

“I don’t have one, okay? I – don’t – have – one.”

“Well, I am sorry to break it to you” Paddy said slowly and with a faint smile, his voice deep and tired, “but that does really sound suspicious. Like that you at least got _something_ for him. I mean, if you usually kiss somebody and don’t know why, you can blame it on alcohol. Maybe we can blame it on the adrenaline, but you don’t really make it sound like some panic reaction.”

A drawn out, victorious yet weary “Ohhhhh” came from the front seat while Harry only looked at the man beside him who still smiled and shrugged once he noticed the his stare:

“Just my share of life experience.”

“Even the old man says that you’re so deep in the closet that you not only found Narnia but John Watson, accept your fate and embrace your big fat gay man crush on Vento.”

“Dear lord, please, I just want to go to bed, stop it” Harry whispered, leaning onto the window.

“Okay, but what actually happened in the box, if I am allowed to ask?” Charlie started again nonetheless and the other just pretended to be asleep.

_I should just say that I maybe fell in love with you…_

“Frecky, you’re not sleeping I know it! Old man, poke him!”

“Let him get a rest, Jesus. He had a hard day, we all had to be honest.”

“Things happened in the box” Harry answered, rubbing his forehead: “Things, okay? Nothing important.”

“Actually, while talking about important things” Paddy chipped in: “What’s with our deal with Vento?”

“Oh, they probably made one and sealed it with a kiss” Charlie giggled and Paddy only buzzed something under his breath.

_Fell in love with you…_

“We can discuss all of this tomorrow after I got a rest … But won’t you actually tell me what happened during the last hours?”

“Oh, not much – Ah, Soph called!”

Harrys eyes jerked wide open: “Why didn’t you told me?!” For a second he looked for his phone, remembering that the English most likely took it.

“I’m sorry, I forgot about it! Do you want to call her?”

“Of course I want to call her, give me your damn phone!”

Charlie held it out: “But the battery is low, so it-“

At this point Harry had ripped it out of his hands already, hastily pressing the home button a few times, which made the screen turn on and off again before he could do anything and Harry only more nervous.

“Frecky, Frecky, calm down, I need to unlock it first anyways, you’re only draining the battery more” Charlie tried to set him on ease, holding out the hand but the other slammed it in his hands so erratically that it fell to the ground and Charlie had to spit a few more words in Italian when the driver started to bawl him out again while he got the phone from the ground.

After he unlocked the screen he also opened the contacts before he gave it back to Harry: “There you go.”

The other stuttered out words under his breath, probably a “Thank you” while he looked for Sophie’s number and Paddy had to smile at this, having one of these moments where he remembered.

_I haven’t called the kids in a day, good grief Patrick, I am a horrible dad aren’t I, haha? Please pick up Harry …_

“The user you want to reach is temporarily unavailable” the mechanic sounding voice replied instead of his sister and there was a little sting in his heart.

He hung up and dialled again but he still received no different answer.

Just when he hung up again and wanted to try it for a third time, Paddy put a hand on his head and ruffled through the ginger hair: “She went to sleep, mate. It’s pretty late, I bet she is sleeping safe and sound and doesn’t hear the phone.” He still smiled: “Try it again tomorrow, will you?”

Harry looked at him, worry in his eyes, worry and disappointment like child who got told that it can’t have that toy because they don’t have enough money.

That was a look he had never seen on his father’s face and it only painfully reminded the older man how much these boys needed him as a guardian and not only a friend.

He shuffled closer to him, head bumping against the car roof, and put an arm around Harry, pulling him close: “Don’t make such a face, the lil sunshine is alright and you can talk to her tomorrow. You can have a long talk when both of you are well-rested and fit, hm?”

He rubbed his arm and Harry only nodded, muttering a “Yeah, you’re right old man” before leaning forwards: “Charlie, your phone.”

But Charlie wasn’t answering and he discovered that his best friend had fallen asleep.

He had been tired all the time but now he saw the other the like that he felt overwhelmed by it, only leant back to close his eyes, being gone in a few seconds.

As the two slept like this, the old man didn’t feel as tired as before. The picture had something soothing but also kept him awake out of habit.

_Can you pick the boys up from the train station, Paddy? I know it’s late but therefore I can’t leave Soph alone here. It’s not like they’re going to make trouble, they just came back from a school trip, they most likely will sleep in the car – If they didn’t slumber away their station already._

Paddy sometimes couldn’t believe Aaron had been dead for 4 years by now. His voice still sounded so clear in his head.  
  


* * *

 

When Michele got into the car, he could have fallen asleep within seconds, his anger for the English, the stress, even the excitement over being able to make it out of their death trap, all had been buried under a blanket of fatigue.

But another thing still kept him awake, made him downright jittery on the inside.

“Won’t one of you come and sit with me back here?” he said and patted beside him on the backseat, when the twins both got in in the front.

The two exchanged a look and giggled, Lorenzo on the passenger seat got out and then got in the back of the car, Michele ran his hand through the others hair before he pulled him into a hug:

“I cannot say how lucky I am to have two such precious little brothers!”

Marco started the car and the next seconds were silent except for the usual sounds of driving.

“I’m still soaked as hell” Michele voiced his awkward realisation and Lorenzo laughed, hugging back now: “No problem!”

He pressed is head against Michele’s chest and the other wrapped his arms around him tighter, all three of them laughing, so hard that it faded at some point only that another noise could fill the car.

And yet, at one point it got quiet again in the car again except for the muffled sounds from outside and the heavy breathing of the Sicilians, notably the two in the backseat.

“We’re so glad you’re back sound” the younger one muttered into Michele’s chest.

“We were so afraid something happened to you” his brother whispered.

Michele chuckled weary and ran his fingers through Lorenzo’s curly hair again:

“Well, it’s not like I was on a little fun trip the last hours” he responded and the two groaned, drawing a laugh from him. “No, your big brother is of course just as happy to see you again.”

He let go of Lorenzo who sat up straight again: “But how do you found out where we were?”

“Well, we found the ‘hideaway’ of the English –“ Marco started with a confident smile but it froze just like the one of his brother and Michele cocked an eyebrow.

“Lorenzo?”

“I’m onto it brother.”

“Good.”

While Lorenzo got his phone out, Marco carried on a bit bashful: “Well we found the hideaway and with a little effort we made one of them find out where their colleagues that were in charge of you were. And we also ca-“

“Caito isn’t answering” Lorenzo interrupted him with a glare for his phone and Michele requited it with a done wheeze.

He was tired again, really tired now. He had been out of this box for not even half an hour and new trouble was awaiting him.

He suddenly grinned, a pretty sheepish one especially because he also blushed a bit.

_Means it hasn’t even been half an hours yet since I kissed Harry!_

This thing would probably still keep him up when he was already lying in bed tonight. He had thought about a kiss since he first saw him, had especially imagined it since they first really met yesterday and the last hours together with the Irish had only made him more curious how it would be.

And it had been better than expected; it hadn’t been the best kiss of Michele’s life but the nicest in quite a while.

“You are telling me WHAT?!” Lorenzo bellowed at the phone, bringing the older one’s attention back to the here and now.

“This is, why, why didn’t you call us?! Who – oh for fuck’s sake!” he continued when Michele tapped his shoulder:

“You might want to give me the phone.”

After a short “Boss wanna speak you” and with a pissed-off but worried face he handed it over to Michele, who still got what the man at the other end of the call was talking:

“Your padrino is well enough to talk? Now I am kinda curious.”

“Signore Mancuso, I am sorry that right now is too little time to satisfy your curiosity” he answered calm but brows furrowed. “You, however, could satisfy mine because I am not too sure if I understood that right. Their _padrino_?”

There was no other response but a heavy exhale at first, followed by a fast: “Signore Vento, how good to hear that you are alive! Well, the Signori Bontade”, Michele scowled at them, the look was also equally questioning, “started to call you padrino from the very point I met them. Won’t call you that again, Signore.”

“I hope so. Now be so kind and explain what all the fuss is about. You are at this ‘hideaway’?”

“Ah yes, we were taking care of the English here when apparently somebody, I guess this Kirkland, arrived. I was inside this building, all I got was that Caito who was left in charge by the Bontades, talked with them, told us then that the tides had turned because you were dead, such bullcrap. He made us release the english since they gave him money and he apparently was willing to share it with a few others; and half of the rest didn’t want to argue against these piss poor traitors, accepting your death too easily.”

“You seem like you have been one of them, Mancuso.”

“I was against it but since dead men tell no tales I shut up before it even came that far, Vico and Idoni _really_ wanted this cash.” Michele believed to hear a “Fucking new kids” said under his breath. “That’s practically it, we had to let them go, most of them left, me, Yanni, Wachardo and Laterza are still here.”

Michele needed a few seconds to file Vico, Idoni and Laterza, they were apparently from of the bunch of new faces he had hired lately.

“Alright. You better go home now, or is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“No Signore. Except that we’re relieved you are alive.”

“Sweet talk but cannot say I don’t like to hear it” Michele replied faintly smiling.

“And maybe one more thing, Signore.”

“Sí?”

“I told you so with Caito, I fucking told you so – If I am allowed to say that, Signore.”

Michele still smiled: “Yes, you were right with disliking him, Silvio, and yes I should have listened to you. Anything else?”

“No Signore.”

“Alright. We meet up tomorrow in the office, you will also get the details in the morning, be sure to don’t sleep in.”

After a “Sure Signore Vento” he hung up and put the phone beside him, Lorenzo grabbing it while Michele crossed his arms.

“ _Padrino_? As in _Il Padrino_? Are you serious?”

Lorenzo was scratching his head, Marco rubbed his neck, avoiding an answer.

“You are, I can’t believe it” Michele said bugged and disappointed. “Since when?”

The twins exchanged a clueless look before their eyes wandered to the street and their big brother again:

“Dunno, since we were 15?” Lorenzo answered.

“Young and dumb at this time?” Marco added, counting on his brother to deliver his best puppy face.

Michele answered this indeed very-hard-to-resist expression on Lorenzo with only a pout before leaning back and looking out of the window.

He was tired to the bones, the situation more or less only annoyed him right now than making him angry and he rubbed over his temples with one hand.

As if he hadn’t enough problems with the deal with –

“Oh my” he whispered with a smile, covering his mouth with one hand, chanting “Oh my” under his breath repeatedly and the twins cocked an eyebrow, wondering what was up with their big brother. They guessed what it was but hoped that they were wrong.

“I was right all along” he said, leaning against Lorenzo’s shoulder: “There is something in this eyes. But no fire to burn myself with, just sunshine, warm, warm sunshine.”

They were right. Sadly.

“Can you believe it?” Michele hummed and they wanted to respond with “We don’t _want_ to” yet kept quiet as he carried on: “Silly Michele fell in love with this Irish and silly Michele wants to kiss him again. Do you think we can link this all with business?”

“Too be honest I think you should really separate private from business, Michele” Marco responded hesitant.

“And maybe forget about the redhead in at least this way … ?” Lorenzo added meek.

“And you know what I think?” Michele gave back, his voice not resentful in the slightest. “I should invite him for Dinner tomorrow to get _both_ of this done. The thing with Signore O’Connel and the thing with Harry.”

He nodded and the twins scratched their heads again, synchronously sighing: “Well, if you think that’s right, Michele … But!”

Michele cocked an eyebrow: “But? Is there some sort of condition?”

“Maybe” Marco said excitedly: “Although I wouldn’t call it a condition as much as a … drawback.”

“They, the Irish, talked about somebody today, somebody close to O’Connel, a girl we guess” Lorenzo carried on just as happily as his brother when Michele interrupted him with an amused smile:

“Let me guess, her name is Soph or something like this?”

“Exactly!” They exclaimed, the older one leaning back, still a satisfied expression on his face:

“She’s his sister, not his girlfriend – if we can trust him. And I think he wouldn’t lie about how she is connected to him, it wouldn’t make a difference anyways. She really seems to be very important to him, you’re right.”

A fairly disappointed and calm “Oh” slipped from their lips, followed by a “His sister, aha … “

Nobody made a sound for a while, Lorenzo was close to falling asleep himself when the older one spoke up again: “And you know what?”

“What?”

Michele cuddled up closer to the other: “His lips were sooo soft. That’s all, this is a very important information that I needed to share.”

They giggled and he grinned, almost gone. When he finally dozed off, he dreamt of a river and a young man with freckles and red hair.


	11. New Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Saoirse is pronounced See-rsha.

Sophie couldn’t remember her dream when she stared at the ceiling, the room barely lighted by the rising sun. Enough to make out everything but not for noticing colour, pretty much all of the room looked grayish-blue.

She only knew for sure that it hadn’t been a nightmare, just a really weird dream that left you with a strange feeling in your tummy because it was funny yet so illogical.  
Birds chirped outside and Niamh breathed quietly in her sleep, these were the only noises except for her own not so quietly breathing.

The Dubliner sighed and cuddled the stuffed penguin toy tighter. Niamh still owned a lot of stuffed animals but mostly kept them in on the top shelf of her closet. A few of them were already given to Soph, a monkey and two sheep.

The penguin was a baby one, the fluffy greys, with brown eyes and Soph would ask if she could keep it as well.

Those thoughts filled her head for solid 10 minutes, since she wasn’t actually awake enough to call herself ‘awake’ but neither could she fall asleep again.

Suddenly, the rustling of textile and creaking of wood made Soph look to the side, upwards to the bed.

Niamh made some undefinable sounds along the lines of “eh” and “uh”, blinking and staring at the wall.

“Good morning” it came from the mattress beside her bed and she turned to look at the other: “Morning.”

A few more of the “I don’t wanna be awaaake” sounds followed while Soph brushed the streak in the middle of her face aside. There wasn’t a day where this jaw-long streak of hair in her face wouldn’t get in the way.

Soph got often asked why she didn’t cut it off but she only shrugged every time as an answer, eventually adding: “I don’t really know, habits?”

When she had cut her hair three years ago she hadn’t paid attention, only hated her look, hated it so much that she had grabbed the scissors and had started cutting as if she had been in a trance.

_I’m not Daddy’s little princess anymore. So why should I look like it then? Will never be Daddy’s little princess again anyways. The king is gone and won’t return._

And somehow, she forgot a streak of hair right in the middle of her face. She used to wear her ginger hair parted down in the middle, now she had an a bit odd looking fringe or at least an irregular centre parting, the hair close to her parting shorter unlike the bangs at the side. Her hair used to cover her chest, now it didn’t even reach her shoulders anymore. She wore it in a high ponytail, the streak in the middle of her face tucked behind her right ear, fixated with two or three bobby pins (just like the hair at the back of her head) most of the time anyways.

When she looked at Niamh, the girl grinned tiredly:

“I bet I look like shit.”

“No, I bet I look like shit.”

“Having curly, thick hair gets you the most awful bed head.”

“Niamh, we had the discussion a thousand times, having hair like MINE plus it being short gets you the most awful hairstyle in every situation – waking up especially.”

“I won’t let you win, I look more awful.”

Soph looked down on her penguin, twitching at the short grey hair so that it was all spiked up before holding it up to Niamh with both hands:

“How about we agree that it has the most awful hair.”

Niamh had already giggled when Soph started twitching, but now she laughed.

“Okay. But it still looks cute. Just like you.”

“You look cute.”

“You look cuter.”

“I look like a zombie.”

“So do I. No, I actually look like …” Niamh started and Soph hugged the penguin plushie with one arm, the other caressing it, straighten out the fur.

“Can’t come up with any good monster that is known for long hair” she sighed wearily and the Irish continued to care for her plushie after she had thrown a look at the other:

“A banshee. Or a witch. A witch is always good.”

The other girl laughed again, making Soph snicker too.

“Niamh the witch and Sophie the zombie. Sounds awesome.”

“Yaaays! We should do this this Halloween.”

“Absolutely. I should actually really visit you on Halloween.”

“Yeah, I mean you missed out on Charlie’s constant ‘pull my bandages’ jokes being thrown around last year, especially after five Guinness and three whiskys” Soph meant sarcastically, causing the other to crack up. And making Soph laugh as well, despite remembering what happened yesterday just now.

_Will call you back when we got time, okay? Thank you sunshine, bye._

That was when the door got opened, a woman in her 40’s and a head full off brown, wavy and totally messed up hair glaring at them:

“Niamh, Sophie, it’s half past five. Other people are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry” both girls whispered and Saoirse O’Brien sighed annoyed “Really” before closing the door again.

“Is it really half past five?” Niamh asked immediately after her mother left.

“I don’t think your mom would lie to us. Could you check my phone, Niamh?”

The other turned to her bedside cabinet and picked Soph’s phone up: “It went out. I will unpluck mine and charge yours, okay?”

“Aye” she replied while Niamh replugged her charger and turned Soph’s phone on, putting it back on the cabinet.

She looked at her phone: “She was right, holy shit is it early.”

She chuckled and put her phone away as well, looking at Soph: ”My dad would lie to us. He would exaggerate and say it is two in the morning and call us impolite sheep.”

“I still don’t get why your dad thinks that sheep is an insult.”

“Sheep are kinda dumb …”

“They are not Niamh, I dare you.”

“But also fluffy and cute and stubborn.”

“And not dumb.”

“Eh.”

“ _Niamh …_ “

“Sheep are wonderful cloud angels. Satisfied now?”

“Aye” Soph smiled victoriously and hugged her penguin, closing her eyes. Niamh tried not to laugh too loud this time.

“Wait, are you so protective of sheep because it’s your nickname?” she then asked and the Dubliner looked at her surprised: “Now you mention it …”

She laughed: “But no, I didn’t think of it before. I am just very protective of sheep because how dare anyone to say a bad word about those fluffy balls.”

Niamh snorted and paid another look to her phone: “It turned on. Want to come here and put in the pin?”

“Too lazy. It’s 4861. I trust you enough to forget it after that or not mess around with it.”

“Aye aye.”

A few seconds went by and she started to groom the penguin again:

“Can I keep the penguin?”

“Hm, I don’t know. It’s actually a really cute penguin, I might put it on my bed.”

“Okay …”

“You have two missed calls.”

Soph’s heartbeat sped up and she lifted herself up, resting her weight on her elbows:

“By who? When?”

“Wait” Niamh said and opened the notification:

“Two times by His Gayesty” she gave her friend a judging look, who didn’t react, “yesterday night around half past eleven. Do you want to call back? I can get the house phone.”

_You got them in trouble._

_You shouldn’t have done this._

“Ah, no” Soph muttered and laid back down, turning away.

“I’ll think I sleep for a little longer. Night Niamh.”

“Night Soph …” the other gave back confused.  
  


* * *

 

Harry felt like he had died yesterday in that box, somebody had dragged his body out of the water a few hours later and had given him a rough defibrillation with thousand volts running through his body.

And he didn’t even count the knocked out tooth which still burnt.

“At least I don’t have to get it sewed” he muttered while examining his mouth in front of the bathroom mirror, gently nudging the wound with the tip of his tongue. Did getting an ear shot off hurt more than a knocked out tooth? He hoped it would. It really should.

Now he should have gotten away from the mirror, there was nothing left to do here.

Instead he kept staring and asking himself if he was the type of guy one would just want to have sex with. Wasn’t that what Michele had tried during the first meeting?

He had only seen him twice and had flirted by hook or by crook.

He hadn’t really done anything, they had barely talked –

Harry thought of his past experiences with girls and suddenly it made sense.

Girls had come up to him when he was out in the pub before so why shouldn’t a guy now? (Although they had been way less interested at first. Or maybe less aggressive and forward than Michele.)

They apparently had liked the way he looked or they came to one of his friends, starting to notice him when he cracked jokes or just started to chat with them.

So maybe Michele just also liked the way he looked like, maybe Harry was a guy one would like to fuck.

“Fuck!” he cursed upon the sudden realisation that he maybe wasn’t as straight as he had always thought. It had crossed his mind since yesterday when suddenly all the touches from the Sicilian hadn’t bother him as much as they should have. That he stood here and thought why the hell he was appealing to the other simply confirmed it further and now he was fully aware of that.

But why Michele? It couldn’t be _only_ something like sexual attraction, considering that the thoughts really began to spawn once they couldn’t see each other.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck my life” Harry continued to groan and curse, turning away and leaving the bathroom, falling into the armchair standing beside the window and tapping his fingers on the armrest while chewing on his lower lip.

A crush on a man he didn’t want to have a crush on at all. The only worse way to realize that he was queer had been to crush on Charlie.

“Bah!” he whispered as a shiver ran through his body, leaving goose bumps at the mere thought.

He didn’t know if it was a good sign that he didn’t react the same when he thought of Michele.

He filed it under “I currently don’t want to know” and mentally went through the other events of last night.

Sophie’s phone call.

Harry quickly pulled a jeans and a t-shirt from his suitcase, putting it on, grabbing the key of his room and went outside on the hallway.

Charlie’s room was directly beside his so it only took him a second before he started knocking on the door: “Charlie?”

He didn’t get a response after a few seconds so he knocked again: “Charlie!”

“I’m coming!” it came muffled through the door and he assumed his friend was in front of a mirror and trying to making his hair exactly look like when he had gotten up.

He found himself confirmed when the door got opened:

“What’s it Frecky?” he asked. Harry bet the dark circles around his own eyes looked as horrible as the one under Charlie’s.

“I wanted to borrow your phone to call Soph back.”

“Oh yeah sure, come in.”

Harry followed him inside and closed the door behind him while the other walked over to the bedside cabinet and grabbed his phone. After unlocking it, he held it out once the other stepped closer: “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell her we are alright and miss her.”

Harry smiled faintly at the other: “Of course.”

The one second long smile on Charlie’s was clearly forced and fake, and it made his friend wonder. Was he really just tired like himself or was there another reason for Charlie being this calm?

“Darn it, Charlie, unlock the screen again.”

“Dear lord Frecky” he sighed and took the phone away.

“You could have just unlock it right in my damned hand!”

“And then let you see my code and do bullshit on my phone? Never Frecky, I am not a stupid or a naïve little boy.” He gave him back the phone: “Now call her.”

Harry scowled at the other but went into the contacts.

He had to admit that “Sheep Princess” was a lot cuter than “Brat”.

He mouthed one last “Thanks” at the other before disappearing into the hallway and pulling the key of his room out of the pocket of his trousers, muttering a “Pick up” into the phone.

Just the moment he was about to put the key in the keyhole, it clicked:

“Hello?”

He almost dropped the key: “Hey Sophie?”

The breathing on the other side of the call speed up audible.

“Harry! Hey, how are you?”

He laughed quietly, a huge grin spreading on his face; it was silly, yet he couldn’t get himself to stop it.

“Not gonna lie, pretty shitty. I just didn’t sleep much last night. And some things happened so I will also go home with a, uh, missing tooth.” He closed the door behind him: “Don’t worry though, that’s all. Oh, and a missing phone.”

“You lost a tooth? How?”

“Not so important, it was an accident.”

It grew silent.

“An accident?”

“Yeah, an accident. Nothing big, just me being an idiot and … unfortunate circumstances. Like it was with the phone – got stolen you know.”

“Unfortunate circumstances, hah …”

“Hey, Soph, Soph – I am still in one piece and not toxicated, same goes for Charlie and Paddy.”

“Well, you are not exactly in one piece…”

“Ugh, you nitpicker, it is just a tooth, okay?” he smiled. “Just a tooth, just me slipping on the fish market and saying hello to a particular hard table.”

“And you didn’t thought of a dentist to get that tooth back in?”

“I insisted I was fine and the time we did got to a dentist, there was not much to save there anymore …”

Harry was very grateful right now he was good at thinking up stories. He couldn’t count the times it had saved his arse so far in his life.

She sighed: “Stubborn tosser.”

“Yeah, I know. But how are you?”

“Oh, fine, I’m fine, I am at the O’Briens right now.”

“Oh, good. Say hello to them from me.”

“Sure … when will you come home?”

“Tomorrow, maybe even tonight, I’ll tell you when exactly.”

“Should I go back home?”

“Only if you want to, it depends on you, not gonna force you.”

None of the two said something for a while and her deep breath made the sadness seep over to him.

He was tired and she was tired, they all were tired. Tired of a lot of things and they couldn’t sleep it off.

“I, I think I’ll go home. Waiting for you and shit, if you come home tonight you might even arrive earlier. Reminds me, what is about my driving licence?”

Her tone had changed to more casual.

“Ah, right that” he said and ran his hand through his hair: “We get to this when we’re back.”

“I mean, my birthday is pretty soon …”

“Soph, September isn’t that near – “

“Time is just a construct, a construct made by people who want to make me impatient! Seriously, I picked my car a year ago but cannot apply for the licence, what kind of bullshit is this!”

She sounded like a kid, like the usual carefree, bratty Sophie he knew.

“I still don’t get who the fuck thought you getting a land rover is a good idea – “

“It is for the farm, it – “

“This shit is so big, you might get lost in it! You might accidentally run your sheep over!” he bantered her.

“Harry you are an unbelievable and utter arse! Bloody wanker!”

“You threw more serious insults last week when I ate all the fish fingers!”

“And what?! Oh my god, are you implying fish fingers are more important than sheep to me?! Move your sorry arse back home, I dare you Harry, I will have a surprise of the first water for you!”

“Was that a come at me, bitch, you brat?”

“Hell yeah it was!”

“Well then you better really prepare something good for when I come home!”

“You bet your darn ugly face I will, you tosser!”

He chuckled and heard his sister also snorting on the other end of the line.

“Then I should get home soon to start the prank war, huh?”

“Yeah, you definitely should.” She took a deep breath: “And please stay safe and don’t lose any more teeth, yeah?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good … I think you want to hang up now, right?”

“Yeah and as I said, will call you later when we are going home.”

“Ok.”

“The others miss you. Love ya, brat.”

“I miss them too. Love ya, tosser.”

The second he hung up he knew he didn’t wanted to be an adult. Especially not an adult with a shitty job he still had to take care of.

Somebody knocked on his door.

“Who’s there?”

His heart made a little jump when he recognised the smooth voice immediately:

“It’s me. I want to talk with you, Signore O’Connel.”

Harry cocked one of his thick eyebrows: “Signore O’Connel? Finally back to the proper way of addressing?”

“I first wanted to talk about business, so yes, back to the ‘proper’ way of addressing.” There was a short break: “Although you didn’t seem to mind me using your first name so much in the end, don’t you Harry?”

The Irish dragged his hand through his face.

He was not going to deny anything, he would just tip toe around it. Which was so not his usual behaviour. But neither was crushing on a man.

“Okay, then let’s get this done – what do you want Mister Vento?” he asked after opening the door. The Sicilian looked different today with his hair down and Harry had to take back the frilly statement – it was just really wavy.

Michele got the excited puppy look of his face and put on a more decent smile: “I have to say, I thought about a few things concerning our business plans.”

“I see, and what did you think about?”

“That I have a few things I want to discuss in private.”

“We are in private.”

“I am standing in the hallway of a hotel, with your bodyguards next to you, I wouldn’t qualify this as private.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I have only known you for two days and whenever we were alone, bad shit happened. Really bad shit.”

“You can’t blame me for the English incident.”

“I can blame you for the fumble without any invitation the first time” Harry gave back, which had Michele looking away embarrassed. “And I am not so sure if the English weren’t your idea as well.”

The other’s eyes shot back at him immediately, scowling. Or more like, he looked something between pouting and deadly offended.

“What kind of accusation is this? Yes sure, I invite Arthur Kirkland to get rid of a man I have never met before. You know Harry – May I come inside for this and close the door?”

Harry stepped aside to let him in and closed the door, the other walked into the middle of the room, taking a look around.

Then he turned to him: “Ask Arthur about the name Vento and chances are he will throw as much of a hissing fit as he does when he hears O’Connel. It’s not my first time roaming around in Europe, but that has been at least three years ago, if not longer. Arthur had just been new into the business and we clashed, more via another family I was involved with. Which is quite ironic because our fathers also didn’t think that highly of each other after Kirkland messed with my family via an Italian one.”

“ _An_ Italian? Aren’t you kind of … Italian too?” Harry piped in.

Now it was a real scowl: “Well, Harry, aren’t you kind of, say, British?”

The Irish frowned displeased: “Then please explain why you are not Italian – that I am not British is obvious.”

“Same reason why you are not British – History. We are our own people, before the unification of Italy, Sicilians would have never even thought of calling themselves Italian.”

“I would love to ask about more history stuff, but that’s a bit off topic right now. Thanks for the explanation though.”

“You’re welcome. And yes, back to the topic.”

The Sicilian rolled his neck once and took a deep breath, before smiling: “I would like to invite you for dinner at my house tonight.”

Harry just stood there awkward. Long enough that it was awkward for Michele too.

And also long enough for Harry to realize that he hadn’t eaten anything in the past 15 or 16 hours.

“Dinner, just the two of us, at your house?” he repeated and the other chuckled:

“Exactly. To talk about business. And maybe other things.”

“Other things …”

“Mhm, I am pretty sure you know what I am talking about.”

Harry bit his lip and looked away: “Last night’s stuff, yeah.”

“So what do you say? I’ll cook for you, we’ll hopefully sort things out and tomorrow you can leave – if you want to.”

“I _can_ leave, how _generous_ of you.”

“Hey, if we get the basic stuff in line, I could come to Ireland next to take care of the details – once this entire situation regarding the English has calmed down a bit.”

He smirked amused: “And depending on if you are even coming and how things will play out, I would also have another reason to get back to Ireland.”

He wanted to get it all sorted out, he wanted to finally have a solution for his dreary financial situation and he also wanted to have an answer about his feelings. And as much as he hated to admit it, Michele wouldn’t be different from the girls he had dated before – He would just have to try it out. And a date, which this was, even Harry got that much, was a good way to find it out. The only one he knew to be honest.

“I’m … I’ll see” he said and cleared his throat. “Would it be okay if I gave you an answer in an hour or something like that?”

Michele smiled sheepishly: “Sure. I can give you the number of my phone, then you don’t have to go through the formal company stuff first.”

“That’d be useful” Harry answered and the other looked around:

“Do you have a pen and paper around here somewhere?”

The Irish exhaled heavily when the other already spotted a small pad on the table beside the window, luckily also a biro lying on top of it.

After writing down, the Sicilian didn’t bother to hand the number to him, just left it on the table, wasting a short look out of the window before paying attention to the other again.

“Okay” the Irish muttered. “Is there anything else you want to tell me now?”

Michele just gazed at him for two or three seconds with his mouth slightly open, appearing to be lost in thoughts.

“No, I don’t. I think I should leave, huh?”

“We both have things to do, don’t we?”

“Yes we do. Hear you later then, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

And just when Michele was almost out of the door, he turned around once more: “But one last question.”

Harry sighed: “Yes?”

The Sicilian smiled: “Can I get a goodbye kissie?”

The Irish didn’t glare, yet couldn’t hold back the next comment: “You can get my foot up your arse, Michele.”

Michele laughed, turning around and lifting his hand with a “Ciao bello” before he closed the door.

Harry sat down on the bed, ruffling through his hair. He waited two minutes.

Three, just to be sure.

Then he went to open the door and peeked down each side of the hallway, luckily not spotting Michele.

Then he slammed his door shut to hurry over to the rooms of the other two.   
  


* * *

 

He still felt dizzy and he didn’t like it. A lot of people got addicted to painkillers because, sure, they sent you to lala-land, where everything was good and jolly and nothing hurt. But it was so … boring. Robert had always known, if he would get addicted to any drug besides cigarettes, it would have been ecstasy. Or cocaine, maybe LSD. The stuff that gave you a kick, that made you feel invincible, adrenaline running through your veins.

He got this kick now otherwise, thanks to his work, but when the entire left half of his face started to burn again, he wondered if ecstasy wouldn’t have been the better solution.

And about how Higgins wouldn’t feel his face at all after their next encounter. Maybe he wouldn’t feel anything ever again.  
It would be way easier to deal with the rambling mess in his head if he would have a clear mind. The numbness over all these thoughts just gave him more of a headache.

“Robert, you already smoked half a package this morning, I don’t think that smoking the rest of it will help more” Tahir said when the blond rushed to the door of the hospital room again. Robert glared at him, sadly unnoticed since the Pakistani-Brit was hiding behind an Issue of the Independent – wherever the hell he even got an English newspaper down here again.

“That’s right, sit your arse down, Bailey” Arthur added from the window and with a snort, the Londoner sat down.

_If you’d be a smoker, you would have been through half a package, too, boss_ , he thought while younger man started to walk up and down in front of the large panorama window again.  
Arthur disliked being not in control.

It didn’t mean everything had to go exactly the way he liked it, but he at least was always calm and happy when he knew what was going on. Even if all of the circumstances are against you, knowing what and that they were made everything a lot easier.

Concerning that, he could only imagine what the others were up to now. He didn’t see much structure in O’Connel’s way of thinking, nor in the one of his bodyguards.

And Vento? Well, this one was tricky. On one hand very predictable in his mood and strategies, on the other hand the Sicilian had surprised him more than once. And sometimes he believed that guy just was never out of luck.

Would most certainly be an explanation for right now.

“Sir, I hate to say it, but you seem troubled. Do you want to share something with us?” Tahir asked, putting his newspaper down to look at Arthur.

He stopped and paid a short look back before staring out of the window:

“Not really. I just hate waiting” he spit out and began to walk again, making Tahir sigh and continuing to read.

“Okay boss, but we found out where the Irish are, we sent Taylor and Jones there … and that’s about it” Robert said. “And after that what? What are we actually waiting for?”

“We’ll see” was Arthur’s answer, not even looking at him.

“I’m sorry Sir, but we’ll see what?”

The other turned to him: “We’ll see what we’ll have to do. And while I do not want to say that you screwed up, I have to say that I am going to take care of them alone – if it’s possible.”

The rustling of the newspaper being put down again followed and Tahir frowned at him: “Sir, are you sure? I don’t think that doing anything alone is a wise decision.”

“Yeah” Robert agreed, scratching his chin: “All alone sounds like a bad idea – even though I can’t offer my help.”

Arthur frowned, almost glared at them: “I know why you are concerned, but first of all I said if it’s possible – I am not a stupid idiot who would just dive head first into a risky situation for the sake of me playing hero or whatever we want to call this. But if it seems to be appropriate to sneak in somewhere alone, making short work of them, then I will do it alone.”

“All – alone?” Tahir stressed again and now Arthur snorted and turned to the window, gesturing with his hand:

“Like I said it all depends on which solution is going to be opportune for the situation. I will of course let you know if I plan a single trip, but by single I mean single.”

The vibration of his phone ended that discussion:

“Yes?”

“We left the building, but there was quite some nice info we got, Sir” Eliza Jones giggled at the other end of the line. “For example, add that – Vento and O’Connel are about to date. And they kissed or something, and the important thing – they’re going on a date. Just O’Connel, all alone.”

“The important information in the last sentence, perfect” he replied deadpan, only causing more giggling.

“I am very sorry, Sir. But we should target Vento’s house tonight. Things might go in our favour.”

“Surely. Thanks for the information, Miss Jones.”

“Always pleased to help, Sir!”

“And?” Robert asked immediately, after Arthur had hung up, looking at the screen.

“Well, things took an … unexpected turn, to say the least” he said with a frown and the bodyguards shared a clueless look, while Arthur headed for the door.

“Sir, where are you going?” Tahir said, the younger Englishman only answering with “Preparations, gentleman, preparations.”

They shared another confused look after he left, Robert still scratching his chin.

“What do you think does this fuckery mean?” the blond asked, but before the other could answer he cried “Ouch!”, glaring at his fingers and rubbing his chin now with his other hand.

Tahir stared at him in incomprehension: “Did you … did you just rip out a hair of your awful stubble?”

“It hurt, okay?” he muttered angrily. “And it’s a beard, not just a stubble.”

“It’s most certainly an insult to everyone’s eye.”

While words like this went back and forth in the room, Arthur went outside of the hospital.

He had done his research, now he was curious if he had been right. The Bangladeshi-Brit and the Indian woman were still at the entrance of the hospital, paying attention to their surroundings and every person entering the building.

And Varsani kept doing this, Miah now focusing on his boss, the bored expression quickly replaced with curiosity.

“Quit staring, Miah” he whispered after walking up to him and the other cringed, immediately – and way too obvious – scanning the place again.

The Englishman only sighed before also taking a look around: “You’ll have to do something for me.”

A happy grin spread on his face: “Yes Sir?”

“There is a villa near the west city of Palermo, located near a cliff. I want to know if a certain _somebody_ lives there.”

“And I shall now go and find out?”

“Exactly. Right now and inform me as soon as you have an answer.”

“Of course, Sir!” he grinned proud before dashing off, Arthur noticing the questioning look of Varsani following her colleague.

There was nothing left to do here, yet Arthur stayed for a few more minutes.

He was somebody who enjoyed rainy weather, he was somebody who enjoyed his home country with most of its quirks.

But the sun blazing down on the place while a stiff breeze puffed through his suit and hair, did lighten his mood up a bit.

_You really found yourself the right place to beg for help, O’Connel._

Or maybe it was just the fresh air in general. And the sudden hope that the new variable called feelings would make things a lot easier. He just hoped that love made them blind – as much as it would mean the Sicilian and Irishman actually being interested in each other.

During the time he got back to the room, he pushed the last thought aside, only focusing on how it would all play out well for him.

By the time he arrived at the room again he had already imagined the three worst outcomes for himself.

“Okay, but why the fuck can I just barely open the windows?” Robert asked, standing in front of glass panels, his pack of cigarettes in his hand.

“Because people might jump out of them, I am actually very tempted to do so right now” Tahir said, rubbing his temple and trying to concentrate on the few pages he got left.

“It is going be a single mission, gentlemen” Arthur interrupted them, a small smile on his face.

“Because those two lovestruck wankers” – Tahir looked annoyed, Robert disgusted – “think that a dinner date all alone is a good idea. But all that it is going to be will be a rendezvous with death.”

When Arthur walked over to look pleased out of the window again, Robert mumbled a few things under his breath before leaving with a “Fuck it, I’m in the smoking area” and Tahir commented a laconic: “How poetic”, before paying attention to The Independent again.


	12. Ticking Countdown

“I somehow feel like you are uncomfortable. Is there something you want to tell me?”

This question came out of the blue for the twins, who just stared at their big brother sitting behind the desk, faintly and knowingly smiling at them.

The two shared a look, lying on the couch in Michele’s office, legs on the back rest.

“No” they responded in unison. “Not really.”

“Well then” Michele said before focusing on the papers in front of him again. It weren’t much, just the little information he had gotten about the O’Connel Clan as company and notes for making a contract. Notes on how to make it in his favour without the other spotting it immediately. Or at all, as a matter of fact.

“And what do we do if he says no?” Lorenzo asked and the older one glanced over to them once more, Marco shrugging and raising his hands, palms upwards:

“I mean, what then? We forget Ireland and all, looking for other North Europeans?”

“I think this would be our Plan B” he answered. “Or rather Plan C or D, because I won’t take no for an answer when we can still convince them. That no would eventually just mean back to the bargaining table with the others.”

“And if that doesn’t work out, we forget about it?” Marco asked and Michele sighed with a smile that froze when his brother added:

“About it _all_?”

Now he frowned at them: “It’s still all about O’Connel, am I right?”

The both jerked upwards, legs slipping from the backrest and getting stuck with each other midway, causing Michele to have a quiet laughing fit.

After untangling the two sat up properly and synchronously gave back:

“Yeah, because you are all about O’Connel!”

“And since when is this of your business?” he said cold, making the two cringe.

He put his hand over his mouth, closing his eyes and leaning back, before gesturing with the same hand: “Hey, boys, look – I can’t help it that I find him fascinating. But I am honestly curious what your damn huge problem with him is.”

They looked away, mouths pressed shut and Michele suddenly felt sorry that he had been so harsh. The Twins might have been adults, but he was still ‘their big brother’. “Please just tell me, I want to get this vexed topic solved.”

“We just don’t” Lorenzo muttered.

“Don’t get it, okay?” Marco added quietly in a huff.

The other exhaled heavily picking a few times at the skin on the back of his hand:

“You said that before, please explain it this time, will you?”

Maintaining the sulking child look for a few more seconds, they looked at him:

“You haven’t liked that kind of look before” Lorenzo explained.

“You haven’t liked that kind of person before, plain rude and arrogant” Marco continued.

“Pardon me, but first of all, maybe I did before I knew you?” Michele answered and both of them cocked an eyebrow.

Lorenzo: “You had a thing for freckled gingers with eyebrows bigger than their freaking fingers?”

Marco: “Or just people who were incredibly hot tempered, stuck up killjoys?”

Both: “What a weird teenage taste in people.”

Michele opened his mouth, attempting to interrupt the two, but they couldn’t stop:

“Where did you even find gingers down here?” Lorenzo asked and Marco nodded enthusiastically, joining:

“Like, don’t people with that kind of skin burn so easily, natural selection sorts them out?”

“Man, I bet the people here make a mint out of all the sun lotion the leprechaun must have bought.”

“No wait – what if he gets so freckled that no sunscreen is needed?”

“That must look so ridiculous.”

“Yes!”

They both giggled, finally a chance for the older one to pipe in:

“First of all, would you stop being so nasty, you two? Yes, nasty, goddamn nasty” he added after earning eyes widen in surprise as reaction.

“Instead of just taking my answer as one, you make fun of it. If you’re not taking me seriously, you don’t want to understand.”

They muttered out a “scusi”, scratching their heads and eyes on the ground.

Michele still looked at them displeased: “Second, it was just an example. I liked a lot of the tourists, of the people I saw that were different, yeah, but that’s not important. You know why I really want him? Because he is _not_ a stuck up killjoy.” He focused back on the things on the desk: “I know things you don’t, just accept it.”

And again, silence filled the room. Only the buzz of the flat air conditioner and the rustling of Michele’s papers were heard.

“Then, well, what is he?” Marco muttered and he glanced over to them once more.

“We’re listening” Lorenzo backed his brother up.

Their big brother sighed, sitting up straight: “And you will take my explanation as it is, even if you don’t agree with it?”

“Sí” they replied.

“And won’t try to convince me of the contrary? Really, no telling me how ‘wrong’ I am” he inculcated and they nodded with another “Sí!”

He picked a few times at the back of his hand again before smiling faintly:

“Yes, he hasn’t gotten the most beautiful face, especially now he has a tooth gap but it’s still cute. I don’t know, I think everything just fits where it is, you know? Can’t explain it, whatever” he said with a silly grin and a wave of his hand: “I like the way he looks in general, maybe I REALLY do have a thing for gingers and didn’t know. And he has really nice, trained arms how I noticed today. So much for the way he looks.”

His grin faded: “I talked about the sunshine already, didn’t I? He is kind, hell, has he even been really rude in your presence? Yes he is hot tempered, yes he probably doesn’t has much patience, but he can be incredibly funny and nice, too, you know? And he isn’t heartless, oh my, he seems to care a lot for his sister and his friends.”

The twins shared an irritated and mildly alarmed expression, Michele clearing his throat: “This is however just my first impression, I can still be entirely wrong about it. If he turns out not to be Prince Charming, you are free and in the right to tell me ‘Told you so.’”

He picked up a fountain pen, turning it between his fingers before removing the cap: “But for now, let me be a lovesick teenager, will you? The feeling is quite nice and I am not wearing that much of rose-coloured glasses that I won’t separate him and business.”

“Sure?” They asked and he didn’t even stop his writing to answer them:

“Very Sure. I won’t do anything incredibly stupid just because of an interesting individual I have known for three days.”

They exchanged another look, not confident enough to start whispering; Michele would catch them anyways and there was plenty of time to talk about it once they were alone.

The phone rang, Michele grabbing it and checking the number, cocking an eyebrow before answering:

“Pronto?”

The twins couldn’t hear who was on the other end of the line – even though when quickly shuffling to the closer end of the couch – but the excited smile on the other’s face made them guess who it was.

“My invitation for dinner?”

He started to play with the pen in his other hand: “I am pleased to hear that.”

“A date” Marco and Lorenzo whispered at the same time, not exactly looking joyful.

“19.30 sounds fine, I’ll send somebody to pick you up. I’m looking forward to tonight, ciao bello” their big brother ended the phone call, a dreamy smile on his face.

With a sigh fitting his expression, he started to write again.

“Lorenzo, Marco, the next hours are going to be a little stressful, I guess.”

“Sí” they answered, not exactly sounding joyful.  
  


* * *

 

“Free Dinner? Free Dinner sounds good, I propose you should go!”

Even though it had been a joke, it clearly had not been the reaction Harry had wanted to hear from the older man.

While Harry had been throwing glares, Paddy had chuckled lowly: “Essentially, it’s a good idea – to meet and talk about our deal.”

“Yes, essentially” he had given back. “Essentially communism was a good idea but look at the execution!”

That had caught both, Paddy and Charlie, kind of guard. Latter had a laughing fit and even the older one had grinned slightly so Harry couldn’t do anything but having gotten more annoyed.

“I don’t think you can compare a date –“ Charlie had started.

“Don’t call it date yet” his friend had interrupted and Charlie had given him a judging and unbelieving yet amused frown before having carried on:

“You can’t whatever you’re about to have with Vento compare with communism.” He had grinned: “Don’t think he’s going to share you with anyone.”

“Oh shut the fuck up” Harry had snarled, having been tempted to throw the pillow sitting behind his back at him.

“We still have no idea what happened in the box, but come on Frecky” he had continued with the same grin: “From what you told us – even if it wasn’t too detailed – I get the idea that Vento would have fucked you right there on the table two days ago.”

The pillow had flown fast in the direction of the bed, having hit Charlie’s arms when he had wanted to catch it.

“And boy, a few of the looks that I caught yesterday! That guy isn’t going to be ‘What is mine is also yours’ anytime soon!” he had laughed.

“I’m not ‘his’, no matter what the bloody outcome of the meeting tonight is!” Harry had snapped and Charlie’s eyes had widened before having chuckled shortly:

“Yeah, that was a shit comparison, sorry. Got carried away a bit and stuff.”

While he had picked up the pillow, Harry had crossed his arms and had leant back.

“Let’s check the list of concerning things though, hm lads?” Paddy had said and sighed, having run a hand into his hair. While having scratched the skin beneath, he had carried on:

“Poisoned Food, being held hostage, being pressured or tricked into signing a contract, being pressured or tricked into other things, getting hurt in general, the English interfering again.”

His stare had gotten lost before he had spoken up again: “That’s all I can think off on top of my head.”

“You’re really encouraging me, wow, can’t wait to go” Harry had said and Paddy had shifted his eyes to him.

“And now we check on how likely they are to happen.

“Poisoned Food? Possible, a crude and obvious attempt to take you out, but possible.”

He had gotten lost again for a few seconds, having looked right through Harry before he actually focused on the younger man again:

“Being held hostage? I don’t know why. To be honest, he could let us not leave the hotel if he wanted to, so why bother now.

“Being pressured into signing something, well, possible. I don’t know how possible, but you need to be aware of it. If it’s done really slyly, I don’t know if we could be a help even if we’d be there as well. You can try, you should try to contact us, though or simply retreat if you can.”

“Retreat, you are using big words here old man” Charlie had said with a smile, but the older one had just shrugged:

“It’s what you are ought to do in that situation. Get the hell out, but in a coordinated, tactical manner.”

“Since when is a dinner a battle?”

“Since our lives are a war.”

Paddy had glanced over, grass green eyes unimpressed but Charlie had avoided eye contact anyways, having stared at the ground.

“And we haven’t even talked about what happens when he wants to make me do … other things” Harry said.

“We should probably consider this too, but now I am at relative a loss and you have to answer me – How likely is that going to happen?”

_Vento would have fucked you right there._

“Well … I can’t really get a grasp of it. He does actually seem like a very okay bloke, maybe needs a lesson in how to respect personal space. I could teach him that one.”

“So you don’t worry much about this?”

_I want to go there to figure out if I like him, of course not! If he behaves like a rapist, I will be straight out of the door and off this godforsaken island! But I **need** to go if want to know!_

“Yeah, I am pretty sure this is not top priority to worry about” he had given back. “I can deal with that, if something happens at all.”

“Okay then, what were the other points again … “

“Getting hurt, but I think the only thing that could happen is him burning his tongue with Pasta” Charlie had joked and Harry had rolled his eyes, yet having remained silent.

“And then the English. And to be honest, _I_ think that’s the biggest threat here. I mean, consider: We know that Vento wanted us to come down here to deal with us, to cooperate. But Kirkland and Co. are just around to get Harry killed – and Vento, and after that it would have been me and you, old man. Vento’s intentions are fishy, but they are fishy okay, okay-ish, while Kirkland is crystal clear about why he is here – to put us all six feet underground.”

“Nah, would have been rather a sleeping with the fishes in my case” Harry had commented and Charlie had frowned at his friend:

“I beg your pardon, but no matter what we think about Vento, he is still very human. I said his _intentions_ are fishy.”

Harry had groaned and leant his head back: “Oh my god Charlie, really.”

“Also, I didn’t know you _slept_ with the fishes. The kiss was just the afterglow, eh?”

Harry slammed both arms on the armrests of his chair: “I swear to god Charles!”

“I admit, I should stop with the shitty puns. That is your territory after all.”

“He got a point, we should really worry about the English the most” Paddy had interrupted. “They are still around, aren’t they?”

“Well, don’t think they should have left too soon with Van Gogh” had come from Charlie.

The older man had snorted shortly. “Then how do we approach this problem?”

“Maybe we don’t need to take care of this. I mean, Vento will, right?” Harry said.

Before one of the others could have said something about it, Harry had ruffled through his hair and continued: “ _I know_ , we should still think for ourselves and prepare us too. I just … “

“Maybe we should go home if we are approaching it like this. Here we are playing on a foreign board, on Vento’s board, without exactly knowing the rules. And both of the other parties are outnumbering us.”

Paddy had looked back and forth between the boys: “Any opposing ideas?”

“We would get home without a solution. Without a good one at least and I guess that the mice already play while we’re away” Harry had muttered, fingers having rubbed against the lean of the armchair. Paddy had nodded; the next seconds were spent in silence. “And we would give Kirkland time. Yes, we are the smallest party, but the English bastard messed with Vento as well and that man has home field advantage.” Harry had looked upwards: “If I go tonight I could find out what he plans to do with Kirkland. Or try to …. Make them a bit more in our favour. Suggest and convince, that I could try.”

“So flight forward? That’s your suggestion?” Charlie had asked and Harry had nodded:

“Guess so. Yes. I want to go tonight and get some things in line. I want it to be done.”

After a while, both of the younger Irishman had stared at Paddy who had cocked an eyebrow:

“What?”

He had rubbed his chin and exhaled loudly before having answered: “Can’t say anything against it. I still can’t think of any other risks beside the ones already said and your points are valid as well. If you think going will help us, then we should let you go.”

He had sighed once more and had added a bit quieter: “Although I still don’t like the thought of you going all alone … Should we really play that ace ...”

“Ace? Paddy what ace?” Harry had asked, having already gotten up but Charlie had smirked and answered before the older one could:

“The ace of hearts, using your incredible sex appeal” Charlie had snorted shortly, “to get us what we want.”

Harry’s glare just intensified: “It’s just a business dinner, not a date, wanker!”

A few hours later, a frustrated moan slipped from his lips and Charlie tried to look into the bathroom: “What’s it Frecky? Trying to pluck your eyebrows for once and they ate the tweezers?”

They were alone now, Charlie only in Harry’s room to see if he could help his friend get ready for the dinner tonight. Paddy had decided to report a few things about the recent events back to Ireland in the meantime.

“Shut. Up” his friend answered and Charlie laughed while the other came out of the bathroom, hair wet and only wearing a pair of underpants.

“Then why the moan? If you are trying to practice for later, I have to say it didn’t sound very sexy.”

An “Ouch!” followed when the metal buttons of the jeans Harry had thrown at him hit him in the face.

“I don’t know what the fuck to wear, you tosser” he answered before continueing to go through his suitcase.

The other just had gotten the pants of his face when the answer put a confused expression on it instead. And then he cracked up once more.

“Oh my Frecky…” he whispered and the other shot him a glare:

“What, Charles, what.”

He smiled, one side of his face rested against his hand:

“And you keep telling me it isn’t a date. If it would be only a formal dinner, you’d slap on a suit and that’s it.”

“It _is_ a formal dinner, just in his house and – Oh who am I kidding here” he muttered the second half and sat down in front of his suitcase: “I am not too sure if it is more of a formal thing or a date. Fuck it, I wouldn’t even know what to wear to a date.”

“Could you speak up a bit? I think I got something with date but could you repeat it?” Charlie smiled broadly and Harry bristled angrily:

“I don’t the fuck know what to wear for Dinner. For christ’s sake, it could have ‘date’ written over it in fat, bloody, blinking neon letters and I wouldn’t know what to wear. That it is only partly a date doesn’t help at all.”

After an oddly quiet time, Charlie spoke up, staring at Harry with eyes wide open:

“Did the proud Frecky just peek out of the closet to say that he doesn’t has anything appropriate to wear in there?”

“Yes, I am probably not straight and I don’t know what to wear to this business meeting / rendezvous bullshit! Like, can I go anything without stains, do I need a suit, do I need a bloody tie?!”

Harry looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps. His friend had gotten up and walked over to him, hunkering down behind him and putting his hands on his friends shoulder:

“Then welcome on the MS Queer, if you plan to stay on board you may sort yourself into the bi, pan or gay department, enjoy your test trip” Charlie said with a grin before looking into his suitcase: “You can’t go wrong with a shirt and suit trousers for a fancy date. You can also wear a waistcoat and a tie to make it even more formal.”

“So I should just go all out?”

“Formal dinner, date, you can never go wrong with a shirt and a nice pair of pants.”

Harry sighed before starting to collect the clothes the other mentioned:

“Let’s hope you’re right…”

“Although it is easier to get you out of those clothes if you are only wearing a T-Shirt and jeans” Charlie whispered.

And had to experience once more how bad trouser buttons could hurt his pretty face.   
  


* * *

 

As the landscape rushed by the train window, Sophie wondered how her route would look like once she had a car. Then she reminded herself that she surely wouldn’t be able to pay attention to the outside when she had to focus on the street.

And that brought her to wonder if the people she knew could actually say what a route they had driven a thousand times looked like. Not just what to see while also paying attention to the road, but what she had noticed when she was with them.

Soph was pretty sure she could describe the way to several beaches around Dublin. But maybe she would mix the different beaches up.

Soph frowned when her thoughts drifted away even more, thinking about if her dad had taken her to a beach when she was little and she simply couldn’t remember it.

Not that it would matter; she remembered tons of other beach trips with her family.

She scratched her head and leant against the window when something in her chest tightened.

But she let it be, didn’t try to distract herself and get rid of the knot inside of her. Instead she revelled in memories, pictures of a day in December years ago playing in front of her eyes.

Both, she and Harry, had been disappointed by the weather, Soph way more than Harry though. It had been a nice winter day, but the long awaited snow had still refused to fall.

“I am going to show you two something” Aaron had said, grabbing both of his kids and his car. And both had asked what their father wanted to show them – again, Soph way more than her brother.

“Just wait princess, will you?”

“Yeah right, calm down Sheep. Wouldn’t be a surprise if dad would tell us.”

And she remembered how both were disappointed when it was just a beach. Nothing special there.

“Dad, what the fuck? – “

“Harry!”

“You make such a fuss about nothing!”

“You got to be more patient. Hey Sophie, how about we three collect shells?”

And then after some time, it had gotten really cold and windy and Aaron had hiked with them on a cliff next to the beach.

And Soph still remembered how the waves had crashed against the shore, the noise like a thunder and foam having danced on top of the water like clouds. She had never seen the sea being like this before.

Harry had liked to remind her of her first reaction to it; having stared with eyes wide open at her father, she had asked:

“Are there now unicorns coming out like in the movie? Is that why you brought us here dad?”

And Aaron had liked to remind both of them of Harry’s response:

“No, but the big red bull is gonna break out of the cliff and gonna eat you alive!” he had growled with a grin, having chased his screaming and laughing sister around the cliff.

How old had she been this day? Seven, eight years old? Something around this.

She felt like crying, but not enough to actually do so. After four years without her father, the tears didn’t come so easily anymore, despite the memories of him making that knot appear in her chest.

And even that nasty feeling didn’t come every time she remembered; sometimes, she was far too busy about laughing about what happened for crying that it was over.

“I wonder if Harry went to the beach” she muttered to herself while staring out of the window again.

It was a silly thought, considering why her brother was there in first place, but who knew? She didn’t. She had no clue how a “work day” looked for her brother. If it would include fun time at the beach, she would be way less worried. And envious if the reason why they didn’t tell her that fun times are indeed part of the schedule was to keep her out.

The reason they didn’t tell her _was_ to keep her out. Out of trouble and out of pain.

She decided that fun time at the beach was a good thing to do though once they were back. It was summer after all and Ireland’s beaches maybe couldn’t compete with any beaches down there but it was enough. Enough to swim and sometimes enough to tan. Or to get a sunburn which were two sides of the same coin – while Charlie and Paddy would get tan, Harry and Soph would resemble a lobster in the same amount of time. She honestly couldn’t remember having any other skin colour than bright red or extremely pale. The only thing the sun could manage beside burning the O’Connels was making even more freckles appear.

In conclusion, Soph didn’t like the sun very much. All it ever did was making her skin weird.

But she still liked nice beach weather and swimming in the ocean and being sent flying by Paddy when he threw her into the water, she liked building sandcastles and trying to bury Charlie with her brother, and she liked just sitting under a parasol, reading a book.

She would definitely make them all go to the beach once they were back.

_When or if?_

_“So you’re going to come home tomorrow.”_

_“Yeah, don’t worry, it’ll be just some more formal crap, nothing bad.”_

_“… Then can’t you do the formal crap at home?”_

_“Because I have to do it now. It’s just formal crap, nothing you should lose your head about.”_

And she would wait for them at the airport tomorrow.

Only thinking about seeing them again made her beam, if there weren’t those nasty thoughts again.

_If they even come home._

Frustrated with those little, unwanted, pessimistic visitors, she got her phone out. She still had one hour left before the train arrived in Dublin. An hour that was likely better spent with failing at every single game she had on her phone.

_All you do is lying anyways. You’ll see tomorrow at the airport when they all are back home, safe and sound!_


	13. Candlelight Dinner

Marco wrinkled his nose over the display on the table but couldn’t help it. Even though the knife didn’t belong there, he had been too lazy to go outside and put it into the Mito when Michele had put it down on the table earlier.

“Mancuso got it from the hideaway, must be the one the Irish had, huh?”

“Damn right it is and they still have the stupid handle” Marco muttered annoyed, eyes rushing over the parts of the deconstructed Beretta 501 instead of actually paying attention and examining properly. Just because the thoughts inside his head rushed as well. Stupid enough, it practically was all the same thought.

_I want that handle for the fucking knife back before you idiots hopefully piss out of our lives._

_I don’t want to play guardian for this stupid date with this rude Irishman._

_I just want this madness to be over._

As he stopped at the knife again, he added _And I don’t want to see this flirty douchebag one more time._

He bristled, letting his gaze wander around the room in order to calm down. He had seen Michele’s dining room countless times, the deep red wallpaper, the black marble floor, the few unframed paintings on the wall, the huge window making up almost the entire upper half of the wall right to him, the massive dark wooden table with the matching chairs and the two doorframes. Only the one leading to the corridor had an actual door; the other one connected dining room and kitchen.

The kitchen where Lorenzo and Michele were busy preparing food for tonight.

For that stupid date with that stupid Irishman.

Marco realised that instead of distracting himself in order to calm down he should just pull himself together and checking if his rifle was still alright before putting it back together.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo shared a similar fate with his thoughts.

_Street food … You are really making street food for dinner, you can’t really want him that much, huh?_

While kneading the dough for the Cannoli he just couldn’t get rid of the cranky smile on his face. He was amused for very weird and actually really idiotic reasons.

_Maybe he just wants maximum outcome for minimal effort. Easy but very tasty food for a formal deal and sex. Probably all he wants from the redhead._

“Lorenzo, why are you pulling … such a face?” Michele asked, cocking an eyebrow and voice turning slightly worried midsentence. Lorenzo couldn’t help but snicker quietly and shrug, while the other put the ingredients he had fetched from the pantry on the counter.

“I just … I don’t know” he answered while Michele was busy organizing the stuff in front of him before he turned to the younger one:

“So no reason? Just feeling funny?”

“Yes.”

Michele looked at him for a few more seconds before he opened the cupboard above his head:

“Well then. How is the dough coming along?”

After no answer and seeing out of the corner of his eye how Lorenzo stopped kneading and instead stared at the dough with a frown, he turned to him:

“Lorenzo?”

“To be fair Michele, he doesn’t even seem to _go_ anywhere …”

Michele grabbed the cutting board in front of him, motioning like he wanted to throw it at the other, all with a small smile on his lips.

Lorenzo only laughed in response, going back to kneading the dough:

“I don’t think one more minute will hurt.”

“Sure?” Michele asked, making a quick step sideways towards the other, pressing a hand on the dough himself.

“Yes sure” Lorenzo said with a smile and he sighed:

“Sure.”

While he started to cut vegetables, Lorenzo’s thoughts wandered off once more.

_Are you a little excited? Or are you just as finicky as always? Latter one, surely. Just wanting to make sure everything is perfect as you always do._

“Please help me cutting after you put the dough into the fridge, will you” Michele asked after Lorenzo wrapped the dough up in film.

“Sure!”

The minutes after that were spent in silent, both side to side and snipping various things, until Michele couldn’t help and glance over to the other, making himself smile.

“You’ve became a lot more patient.”

Lorenzo stopped, turning to him with a frown: “ … since when …?”

“Since I don’t have to wash of your blood off my boards anymore.”

The younger one laughed quietly and returned back to cutting: “I see.”

“I can’t believe my little boys are all grown up by now …”

“Michele…!”

“I’m your big brother, I’m allowed to be like that” Michele snickered, quickly ruffling through the other’s hair: “But truly, I am relieved I managed to teach somebody how to cook that well. Who else would help me now with all of this?”

Lorenzo just flashed a big smile at him: “Always at your service, Michele!”

And as he shoved the last tomatoes from the board into a bowl, he asked: “Should I start making the ragù?”

“Sí. Also, check if the fat in the fryer is still okay. If not …”

“If not we have to do that pain in the arse that is to clean that shit” Lorenzo said almost under his breath while he, bent over in front of a drawer, pulled two pans out and put them on the stove. “Using a pan would have been way easier.”

“And the right way to make Arancini and I still want to kick myself for having to use the deep fryer, but sadly we have no time” Michele replied. “And it’s not only a pain but also very time consuming” he added, voice sounding somehow vacantly. He had stopped cutting, instead rolling his head around once before staring upwards at the cupboard.

Lorenzo heard him mumble and scratching something, listening carefully while he put oil in the pan and gathered the other stuff he’d need. And finally, Michele let out a weary and frustrated sigh.

“Cazzo, this will become a problem” he said.

“What will?”

“The whole cooking here. I don’t know if I can manage it in time, especially since you have to leave.”

Having picked up his knife again, he started gesturing:

“I have to decide between perfect food and perfect host, and that is just … I need more time. Should’ve taken that into account earlier, cazzo!”

“Or maybe another helping hand?”

Marco peeked inside the kitchen: “You know, I am almost done and after I put the stuff in the Mito, I’d help.”

Michele just stared at him, slightly squinting, before pouting and turning away: “Yes, sure, thanks for your help, Marco.”

“You’re welcome …?” he said puzzled, eyes on his brother, their looks becoming even more confused when Michele chuckled quietly:

“No, I am really thankful. Just finish, then come back and help your brother.”

But just a little time later, he added: “Wait, I got a better idea, after you’re done, you come and help me.”

“Alright Michele.”

“Do you not trust us together?” Lorenzo said with a smirk in his voice.  
Michele answered with a smile as well: “Of course I trust you together! Just not in my kitchen.”

“Marco, did you hear that?”

“I am feeling really offended right now.”

“There is serious business and then there is my kitchen. I am sorry, but the pancake in my face is still vivid in my memory and you two will not start a food fight here.”

Marco had just shouldered the rifle and put the knife in his pocket when he heard that. Once more, the eyes of the twins locked when he glanced into the kitchen.

_A food fight would be such a fun way to ruin this date with the leprechaun._   
  


* * *

Harry couldn’t see the others from here, but he envied them nonetheless.

He hadn’t eaten anything since noon and despite waiting for his ‘cab’ that would take him to Michele for the meeting, he envied Charlie and Paddy who were most likely sitting on the terrace, enjoying a peaceful and normal dinner. Meanwhile, he stood at the gate of the Hotel’s area for at least 10 minutes by now.

He just really hoped the food would be good. Even if everything would fail, he would have a satisfied stomach. He didn’t even have to worry that his tooth gap would prevent him from eating; it didn’t bleed nor hurt when he didn’t touch it and even when he did, it was just for the second his tongue poked at it.

“Where the hell is your bloody minion, Vento, it’s already five minutes past half past seven” the Irishman muttered, wondering if the other simply forgot or if this was something like being fashionable late. He and Charlie had checked out etiquette when it came to Italy and meetings like the one that was lying ahead of him; being late hadn’t been included in the versions they had looked at.

But a car stopping in front of him interrupted him from his thoughts.

The driver of the silver Mercedes limousine let one of the car windows down; he seemed to be younger than Harry – something around twenty – head full with black curls and a scruff on his tanned face.

He lowered his sunglasses with a small smile, looking properly at the Irish for two seconds before saying:

“I suppose you are Signore O’Connel. Signore Vento sent me to pick you up.”

“I see” Harry replied. “I am Signore O’Connel and your name?”

“Laterza, Signore. Now would you please get in, I don’t think Signore Vento wants us to be late.”

“Aren’t we already?” Harry muttered while getting in the front passenger seat, earning a weird look from the Sicilian.

“No, Signore, I think we are in time” he said quietly with another small smile and that were the last words spoken in the car for the next minutes.

Harry once again admired Palermo when they drove through narrow alleys and the broad streets. First one consisted mostly of old, often run-down and sometimes even fit for demolition houses and small shops left and right of the road, the latter ones had big stores of clothing brands, jewellery, restaurants, supermarkets and cafés, sideways lined with trees blossoming pink.

Not that he got to see that much of it anyways, Laterza headed outside of the city, road going alongside the sea.

“Damn, that’s still beautiful” Harry whispered, turning to the driver when he heard him chuckle.

“The sea?”

“Yeah … “

“It is. I come from a city a bit more inland, still amazed by having the water all around me.”

“I am amazed that it is actually pretty and not a dirty green mess” Harry replied with a smile, making Laterza laugh.

“Oh, that sounds horrible. We are there in a few minutes by the way. Just wait a bit then you will spot the house. You can’t overlook _that_ mansion.”

_A mansion? Overdoing it a bit, aren’t you Vento._

But indeed, most of the houses he now spotted on the side of the road were actual houses, most in a good or very good shape, fences around the properties.

Unlike the street which seemed to get worse and worse the farther they drove away from Palermo.

After the next turn, the Irishman knew what Laterza had meant by mansion; even from afar the house looked like the roman villas he had seen in his history books that filled his shelve as kid.

“Definitely overdoing it, Jesus Christ” he whispered. “What were you aiming for, mansion of the landlord?”

“Isn’t he technically one?” Laterza whispered as well, Harry turning to him but the other didn’t notice so they remained silent until they stopped in front of a gate.

During the last metres, Harry slipped his hand in his pocket to make sure the phone was there. It was a one way flip phone they had gotten at the train station so he would at least be able to contact the others, just in case.

“There we go. Have a nice evening, Signore O’Connel” Laterza said quietly, flashing a short smile at the other man.

“Well, you too, Mister Laterza” Harry gave back, getting out of the car and staring at the black bars in front of him as the Mercedes drove away.

He just wondered whether he would have call for Michele or if he simply couldn’t see the doorbell when the car came back and drove past him again. And while he looked after it, somebody shouted “It’s open!” from inside the fence.

Michele stood about 20 meters away in the door of his house, smiling at him.

“Are you fucking trying to shit me, you fucklord” Harry hissed when he pressed the handle down but the gate didn’t do anything. Throwing his hands upwards, he shouted back “It’s not!”

The Sicilian didn’t move at first, just frowned, before he quickly made it over and pressed down the handle himself, muttering something in Italian.

“Scusi” he snarled and turned around, sprinting back inside the house, leaving Harry behind with the feeling that the universe had decided to take the piss out of him tonight.

“I am … apparently I accidentally closed it, I’m sorry” he mumbled when he came back, unlocking the gate and pulling it open.

When he looked at Harry, the Irishman inhaled sharply, feeling the blood shoot down into his crotch, and took a step back.

Michele’s golden eyes looked right into his, the first buttons of his dark red shirt were open, offering a good look on his chest.

His first thought was definitely _I am so glad he can’t see my boner_ followed by _I am as bloody queer as Charles_.

“Signore O’Connel?” Michele’s voice brought him back to reality and Harry coughed once into his sleeve.

“Sorry, I haven’t had something to eat in a while, I feel a bit dizzy” he said and Michele chuckled amused, looking at him in his entirety.

“My, you are looking very posh, Signore O’Connel. If I had known this I would have dressed better as well” he smiled, closing the buttons of his shirt.

“Thank you” Harry replied quietly when Michele stepped back, his arm gesturing to the door:

“I think we should finally go inside, shouldn’t we? I apologise for the complications.”

The Irish wanted to say something but got distracted once he paid actual attention to the house, no bars in front of his face.

The grass was surprisingly green for the weather, a path of white granite leading to the steps of the front porch; it was a terrace made out of some light wood, trapped between the other two parts of the fronts, around two metre longer than the middle. Pillars held the roof of the porch, the door was a white double one with huge, green opal glass panes.

The only thing decent about this villa was its white walls and the red roof.

“Do you like it?” Michele asked and Harry turned to him, wondering if he had stared that long and obvious.

“It’s an interesting choice for a house, Vento” he gave back, one eyebrow cocked, taking a few more steps inside of the yard and the Sicilian closed the gate behind him.

“Yes, it is” he said with a grin, walking up beside him, grin on his face and eyes on the house for a few more seconds before he turned to Harry: “Let’s go inside, we have things to discuss.”

For a moment Harry had forgotten that he was here for business and not for staring at all the Sicilian beauty surrounding him.

“Right” he backed, following him to the front porch and inside.

He thought the outside was over the top. He apparently was wrong if he compared it to what he saw _now_.

The room was huge, almost a hall, white, shiny granite for the floor and a deep orange for the walls, littered with paintings. At the back of it, two stairs at each wall lead to a small balcony which belonged to the corridor of the upper floor.

“Is that a fucking glass ceiling?” Harry asked, Michele only chuckling again.

“And a pain in the neck to clean it. Nobody was practical here back in the day” he joked while the Irish stared at him in disbelief:

“Michele, what is that fucking room?”

And another snicker slipped from his lips, turning around and leaning against the doorframe, half lidded eyes that made the Irish’s heart skip a beat again.

“A corridor, an opening hall, a staircase. Can’t you see it? And it is way too much.”

Harry felt like adding a sarcastic “Oh no, it is just right, almost decent” but held himself back. The Sicilian sounded serious.

“And now, let me introduce you to a normal room for a change” Michele said, adding a “Harry dear” before opening the door, showing with a wave of his hand to follow him.

“Decent one indeed” he said after entering. The supposedly dining room was large, so was the dark wooden table in the middle of it, two sets of table mats and cutlery lying opposite to each other at the top end. To his right was the huge window he had already seen outside, to the left was the kitchen.

He at least assumed this from the look through the doorframe before a hand caught his chin and turned him around:

“Ah ah ah, Signore O’Connel, you’ll only spoil yourself” Michele whispered, face only a few centimetres away from Harry’s. And as much as those eyes had turned the Irish on lately, they didn’t look that nice when the small smile on the Sicilian’s lips didn’t reach them.

He put his hand around Michele’s wrist, his voice close to a hiss:

“Spoiling myself, huh? I am sure it will be a _lovely_ surprise, right?”

“Of course, bello” Michele said, his fingers letting go of the other’s face.

“One to die for?”

The Sicilian laughed quietly but seriously amused now:

“We are being a bit paranoid, aren’t we?” he asked after his wrist got released. He pulled out one of the chairs: “Just have a seat and don’t worry too much. My cooking sure has sent people to heaven, but never in that way.”

“Nobody who spends time around you would end up in heaven once they are dead” Harry just gave back under his breath, earning a questioning look from the other.

He only passive-aggressively stared back, saying: “Don’t we want to get on with it?”

“Impatient, aren’t we?”

“You wanted to talk about business, Vento, not just be pretty and stand around.”

A short sparkle appeared in the Sicilian’s eyes.

“Well, that is true, but I wasn’t the one who started being unprofessional. So, before I get the wine and we start our business talk, I want to ask – Is it Signore O’Connel or Harry for now? Because if you want a serious conversation I want to know what I am about.”

“O’Connel it is.” _For now._

“Good. Then you should also make sure you won’t let a Michele slip, shouldn’t you.”

“Of course.”

Michele disappeared in the kitchen while Harry wondered if the other was honest about cooking himself or if somebody else did it for him; cooking was after all a very strange hobby for a mafia boss. And cooking for your own business dinner was a very weird thing no matter what your job was.

_Then if I end up poisoned it maybe wouldn’t even be him,_ he thought. _Just an accident, just somebody else wanting to get rid of me._

He shook his head when an unpleasant thought went through it.

_Somebody who thought it would be funny to take me out the same way as my father._

Michele interrupted his thoughts, putting a wineglass in front of him as well as on his own table mat.

As he put the wine bottle on the table and the corkscrew in, Harry noticed how quickly and smooth his motions went, well-versed as if he had done it a thousand times before.

“Will be back in a second, Signore” he said after pouring some in first Harry’s glass and then his own, putting the bottle down on the table and closing it with a stainless steel bottle closer.

The Irishman wondered where he had the closer from, but hesitated long enough to ask such an unimportant question that the other was already back in the kitchen, so instead he grabbed the glass and sniffed.

As far as he could tell with his limited knowledge – he had always been way more of a booze and beer person – it smelled dry. Strong, not like hard liquor but leaving your throat burning nonetheless.

“Are you a gourmet of wine, Signore O’Connel?” Michele asked as returned, Harry lifting his arms to give him more space when he put a plate down in front him. It wasn’t a very large plate and not filled to the brim either.

He really hoped that this was a more than a one course menu because otherwise he would not only envy but outright hate his bodyguards this evening.

“Not really …” he answered eyes on the other, who sat down across from him after placing a plate with the same dish on his own mat.

Harry took one last breath of the wine, this time to check if he smelled something strange, something that definitely didn’t belong into food or someone’s body.

But as far as he could judge it was just wine.

The next thing he paid more attention to was the plate in front of him.

He supposed it were fried vegetables, aubergines and tomatoes, maybe some pepper? And it had a weird smell, definitely sugar but something acrid as well.

“You like to stick your nose into things where it doesn’t belong, don’t you Signore O’Connel” Michele remarked entertained, hands folded and chin resting on it and the Irish’s eyes shot at him:

“I am afraid I will have to hear the curiosity killed the cat thing once more.”

“So I guess this isn’t the first time somebody told you that.”

“Curiosity hasn’t killed this cat yet. Besides, the rest of that saying is ‘But satisfaction brought it back.’”

Now Harry guessed what the sparkle in the other’s eyes was – interest, almost admiration.

Something along the lines of this. Perhaps. He was just guessing after all.

Whatever it was, it only found his way to the surface through his eyes.

And his eyes still on Harry, he grabbed the wine glass and held it out to his dinner partner:

“Well then, to your health you curious cat.”

Harry raised his as well and answered the other’s “Salute” with a “Sláinte!” out of habit, earning a raised eyebrow but nothing more until Michele put the glass down:

“Irish?”

He had been right – it was a very dry, kind of sour wine:

“Yes.”

“I see. Well then, let’s start. Buón appetito, Signore O’Connel” he said, picking up his fork and starting to eat.

Not knowing how to reply this time, Harry simply did the same, realising though that he subliminally took another breath of the piece of eggplant in front of his mouth.

_We are being a bit paranoid, aren’t we._

_Since when is a dinner a battle?_

_Since our lives are a war._

As he still couldn’t make out any toxic flavour and Michele gave him once more a questioning look, he just stuffed it in his mouth.

Well, that was a surprising taste.

First of all, it was cold despite clearly being fried and secondly, the sweet-and-sour of caramelised sugar and vinegar pleasantly tingled on his tongue, instantly making his stomach feel weird, wanting more.

“So, Signore, where did we left off before that unfortunate incident yesterday?” the Sicilian interrupted him after a few more bites – there _was_ pepper in it – and Harry put down another fork full of tomato and eggplant he was just about to put in his mouth.

“Well, let me think” he said, placing the fork on the plate and taking a sip from the wine, if sip was even the right word. It was a dry and sour wine, yes, but it suited the dish perfectly and Harry was thirsty anyways.

“Presumably about your financial problems. The wine you keep chugging down like water would be enough to cover most of your debts, if I may be honest.”

His first urge was to spit the wine all over the table like in a bad sitcom, instead the Irish only choked on it, thumping his fist against his chest.

And the next urge when his eyes went to the bottle was to just snatch it and run like in some bad cartoon.

If he had been a few years younger, he would have done it. Something stupid, something incredible ridiculous. Something for the sake of doing it. Maybe for people talking about it.

Harry O’Connel, class clown, school prankster, probably the biggest dork in the entire borough, willing to risk everything for fun and maybe for reputation.

“I was kidding, stop eyeing at the bottle, next thing I’ll have to witness is you stroking it and whispering my precious” Michele said and Harry’s eyes jerked to him but the other was already occupied with his food again.

Picking up his fork, the Irish stared at it for a bit before remembering what their last business talk consisted off:

“Right. Our last talk was about my financial problems and you just wanting to make me your lap dog.”

He hoped his glare would come across as one even though he was chewing on the best thing he had eaten in quite a while.

Michele’s expression was unimpressed at least:

“Well, Signore O’Connel, that is a very biased and unprofessional thing to say.”

“I am sorry, Mister Vento – You just want to give me money as a test. Trial time. Wanting to work with me, but no other help than money, money that I’d owe you.”

_If you wrong bastard really like me that much, I must say that you can differ from business and non-business when it is important though._

_Can I manage that too?_

“You’d owe me something if I would help you in the ways you suggested as well. Are you afraid you can’t get back on your feet without a helping hand?”

“I’d rather have a partner to work with than just a loaner.”

“Pardon me if I will catch you off guard, but my first impression when I found out a bit about your family and connections was that you already have a stable partner to work with. More or less stable, I mean – The Isles is a troublesome place, aren’t they?”

“I assume you mean McAlistair” Harry replied, eyes on him but shoving around what was left on his plate. Michele hadn’t finish either, just putting tiny bits into his mouth whenever Harry talked. Fortunately, the Sicilian talked longer than the Irish so he planned to do the same – just with larger amounts.

“Yes he is a partner, but that is a different kind of story.”

“One that goes long back, I suppose.”

“Exactly. Also, just because I have one safe partner doesn’t mean I want him and me to be the only foundation of this wonky construction.”

“What do you have against a trial time, Signore O’Connel? I can understand that you don’t just want a loan, I simply want to help you with not immediately jumping into it.” He sounded tired.

“That it isn’t a trial time. Because so far, you haven’t lost a single word about that you will just drop me after it. You’ll give me money, which I have to pay back, _no matter what_.”

“Just drop you after it?” Michele sounded genuinely confused, taking a sip of his wine as Harry explained:

“This isn’t a trial time. Trial time means it’ll have no consequences when I say no. You just want to put me on a leash and go for a walk to decide if I am worth being stuffed in a cage.”

It was quiet for some time, Harry finishing what was left on his plate before the other spoke up:

“You mean that my trial time is only there to trick you into being dependent from me anyways? Is that what you want to say?”

“I guess it boils down to exactly that, yes.”

“You don’t think very highly of me, do you Signore O’Connel.”

“I don’t think very highly of our business, Mister Vento.”

Michele chuckled, exhaling noisily through his nose, eyes on the other’s plate:

“Fair enough, Signore.”

He stood up, collecting their empty plates: “Excuse me now, I’ll just prepare the main course and then I’ll be back.” He also took his wineglass between his fingers, nodding towards Harry’s: “You better finish this as well. By all means, take your time doing so but I have a better wine for the next prepared.”

“This is a waste of wine” the Irishman replied before emptying his glass while the other disappeared into the kitchen.

“Why would it be one? I’ll just close the bottles again, it’s not like wine goes bad!”

“Well the bottle is open now!” Harry gave back, giving him a surprised look when he showed up in the doorframe again:

“If you don’t mind we can have one more glass after our discussion, Signore – Provided you are still there then.”

“Depends on the outcome of our discussion.”

_Especially of the one we haven’t had yet. Maybe we can talk about that over a glass of wine?_

“I know. Also, if you want to have a glass, I have better ones than this. The last one is very acidic, I only went with it because it goes good with the dish, you know. Vinegar and tomatoes are tough to pair with wine. The one for the next course won’t be that mild either, but we’ll find a good one for later, I promise.”

He smiled faintly at Harry’s response because it was a mildly bewildered look and a quiet “I see” before taking a look around the room.

He still knew that Michele went away, not really paying attention to the painting he had his eyes on. Maybe Harry was easily impressed when it came to food but who cared. It had never been a problem before.

_Oh man, I want to date a good hobby cook, he’s going to be so disappointed -_

_Date?_

Harry rubbed over his face, resting his chin on his hand.

_Wait, at least wait with those thoughts after the business part is over, you bloody git._

He heard the buzzing and fizzling noise of something being put into hot oil and despite knowing better he tried to get another peek into the kitchen.

Michele didn’t seem to notice as he placed the white balls – he wondered what it was and if it would taste as good as the first course – in a deep fryer, back towards the door.

Still not noticing, he turned the stove on, flames heating a small pot.

He knew the Sicilian would notice if he’d try to get a better look around the huge kitchen, so kept his eyes on him.

Maybe also because the other himself was a very pleasant view.

Yet he was still enough in his mind to quickly admire the paintings again when the other turned to the door.

The next minutes he listened to the noise coming out of the kitchen, trying to sneak a peek every once in a while, being successful at not getting caught, thus realising how big the kitchen was. And wondering what some of the utensils hanging from the walls and placed on shelves were good for.

“I feel like I have seen this place before …” he said, eyes squinted and focused on one of the paintings when Michele came back with another bottle of wine and two clean glasses and the Sicilian followed his look:

“Hm? Ah, maybe. It is just a picture of the coast.”

“It kind of looks like the view from my hotel.”

“Who knows?” Michele gave back, a kind and warm smile on his face. It suited him.

He kept explaining as he opened the bottle: “I bought it from one of those street painters, you know? Some of those guys really have talent, it’s a shame people rarely buy their paintings.”

“Are all paintings you have by street artists?” Harry asked as the other poured wine into their glasses:

“Most of them. There are a few that are … heirlooms.” He grimaced, almost making the Irish laugh.

“’Heirlooms’?” he asked instead and Michele shrugged, picking up Harry’s empty glass from before and turning to the kitchen: “One day I might explain, Signore. Now we clearly have other things to discuss, right?”

“Right” he muttered, eyes on the empty mat in front of him, reminding him how weird and unsatisfied his stomach felt since he finished the last plate.

And it growled when the Sicilian placed a new plate on the table, making Michele laugh as he set down his own:

“Something wrong, Signore O’Connel?”

“No, just hungry. Haven’t had much, like I said before” he replied the other just smiled again:

“Well then, Signore. Should we just resume to our conversation after dinner?”

“We managed to uphold it before now” Harry gave back, stopping with figuring out how to eat the fried golden balls in front of him. Garnished with a little tomato sauce he wondered what would be inside.

Was it just two really big croquettes? Sure looked like it. Fried Fish? Meat? “So I see no need for delaying.”

“If you say so … You last said that you don’t think very highly of our business?”

Once again he had to look back up from his plate, now having cut one of the balls in half, discovering the inside filled with mainly rice, but also tomatoes and pieces of mince: “ Yes, right.”

And once again, the other was clearly amused by his curiosity when it came to the food:

“They are called arancini, Signore. Rice balls, usually fried and filled with ragú, spinach or butter. Common Sicilian food.”

“Ragú?”

“That’s what I did – well, I added some mozzarella, I hope you like it. It’s basically the sauce you have with spaghetti Bolognese, as you can see.”

“Ah” was Harry’s only answer, followed by a glare when he heard the next sentence by the other:

“And before you sniff it like a dog again, there’s no poison in it, trust me. Would only ruin the taste and I hate to ruin food.”

“Would it” he said, voice almost a growl. “Thank you for the segue though – I don’t trust anybody easily in this pigsty called organized crime and sure as hell won’t change that now and face plant badly.”

“I did already, hence the trial time.”

And once again, Michele looked tired when he explained that: “I tried bonding with another European family. I got tied up into business dealings I had nothing do to with and which added nothing for my benefit – quite the opposite actually.”

Harry didn’t answer immediately, to busy chewing on the way too huge chunk of rice he shoved into his mouth. It did taste like Bolognese and was even spicier than the first course but not enough to burn his mouth, just salt, pepper and onion making his tongue tingle pleasantly and cheese easing it again.

As Michele kept talking, he took the opportunity to take another bite:

“I got into trouble, I messed with people I never wanted to mess with”, his voice got quieter and derisive: “Mess with back then. If I had known …”

Harry used the short pause he made to pipe in now: “You got dragged into things you didn’t sign up for and that came back to bite you in the arse. Isn’t it what you want to tell me?”

Michele smiled before starting to eat as well: “Once bitten, twice shy, Signore.”

“So now you are trying to at least not be the one who gets short-changed this time.”

“It is not like I will try to short-change you O’Connel, this is clearly not my intention. It also isn’t my intention to drive you away from me – I am genuinely interested in a partner and I do think your business has a lot of potential. You have a lot of potential if you would just set your mind to it, Signore.”

“You sound like my old literature teacher and I don’t like it” Harry replied exhaustedly and Michele snorted:

“Scusi. But my statement stands – I’d love to work with you, I really think this could work out great, but I won’t be incautious, for my own and most likely also for your benefit.”

“Again, so caring for me” Harry said with the same bored tone as before: “And I don’t really buy it. But okay, you want me, even a blind man would have noticed that – “

He bit his tongue, ignoring the sparkling in Vento’s eyes as he carried on: “So how about a compromise – you give me enough money to get off my back about it when either of us feels like dropping out, just to make it a real _trial_ time – I get the chance to take care of my financial problems and you can perfectly see me living up to my potential!”

Michele smiled faintly, tired and fake: “The amount of money I’d be willing to ‘lose’ wouldn’t be enough to make any great leaps forward, Signore O’Connel.”

“I take what I can get – and what I can get here is a wee bit of money and a future partner. One that already has drawn the wrath of Arthur Kirkland upon them, all the better.”

He grinned at the other, for a second wondering if it looked weird now with the tooth gap but then decided that he couldn’t care less; having relaxed during the last minute and coming across almost carefree now.

Carefree or self-confident. All the same in the end.

More moments were spent in silence, it felt longer than it could have been to Harry and the only reason he didn’t ask for an answer was that he was too occupied by the food and wine again. The wine went easier down his throat, being noticeable less dry than the one before.

“Alright.” Michele said seriously but with a friendly expression on his face: “It does sound like a plan to me. I agree.”

“We have a deal?”

“We have a deal. We can sort out the details after dinner, but we have a deal. Would you like to set up the contract right after it as well?”

Harry bit his lip before he shook his head: “No, I want witnesses when we do it. Tomorrow, in front of the others.”

“As you wish, Signore” the Sicilian gave back, cocking an eyebrow when the Irish held his glass out to him:

“To our deal and hopefully a good cooperation in the future!”

But after they clinked and put the glasses down again, an odd silence spread in the room again, different from the one before, even different from the one in the box. Not as heavy and tired like when they were trapped together, but light and threatening. They had both finished their meals, but the dinner wasn’t over yet. They came to a conclusion with their work negotiation, but there was still something left to discuss.

“Well, ready for the last course?” Michele asked, standing up and collecting plates once more, Harry’s eyes unfocused on the middle of the table.

“Business talk is over, right?”

“I suppose, Signore.”

The Irish focused again, namely on the Sicilian: “Call me Harry then for the rest of the evening.”

Another one of those kind smiles appeared on his face:

“Alright, Harry, back to the first names.” He picked up Harry’s empty glass: “I suppose, bello works just fine as well, won’t it?”

“You’ll say it anyways” he answered, making the other chuckle.

“You are just too beautiful to not let you know, Harry.”

The Irish rolled his eyes: “Any other corny phrases for me? Or would you rather tell me what’s for dessert?”

A beam spread on Michele’s face: “You.”  
  


* * *

 

He didn’t like the sun so much anymore, Arthur decided. Couldn’t have O’Connel chosen some place cold and rainy? He was used to this weather and it was way easier to bear with than heat. Rain, one just wiped out an umbrella or put the hood of one’s jacket on. But when it came to heat, one’s only chance of any kind of relief was either praying for wind or getting rid of one’s clothes.

His only chance now was waiting for the sun to go further down, because while the breeze of the coast was helping, the Englishman still had to take off his suit jacket and loosen his tie.

“And all for nothing maybe” he muttered while leaning against the car he had gotten here with, ‘here’ being another one of the countless dirty field ways. Miah had taken way longer than he should have, but at least he had been thorough. If you poked that man’s interest, he would move mountains although you never told him to do so.

_“I found several paths surrounding the area, I even came up with a plan –“_

_“You did enough, Mister Miah. Thanks for your effort.”_

_“You’re welcome Sir…”_

He had gotten the chance to play spy, Arthur thought amused when it triggered memories from his own childhood. His parents watching the James Bond movies with him, his mother covering his eyes during particular violent (or erotic) scenes, all of them going to the cinema when _The World Is Not Enough_ came out. He was 9 at the time, his future plans to become either a secret agent or a wizard, having already swallowed the first three books of the Harry Potter series by then.

_“Are you sure he can read them? It is a pretty thick book. He’s 7, John.”_

_“Balderash! He’s a bright boy, honey, it’ll only help him improve! Besides, he picked it himself and I am sure he will like it, who doesn’t like fairy tale stories about wizards?”_

Never mind it hadn’t been a fairy tale, Arthur had loved it nonetheless like his father had predicted and both of his parents had endured his obsession all over the years. All his wishes to go to Hogwarts, all the spell and potion “practice” – latter one just being him messing the kitchen up – encouraged by the two. Except for the potion practice of course.

Just like the playing spy before, long before the realisation, that the only thing he was ever to be destined was a Bond villain or Voldemort, came to him.

Being at the whole secret agent topic, he wondered if he had any bugger from the MI5 or Scotland Yard after him; if yes they did a bloody good job at not being noticed.

That was when the real world interrupted his thoughts: Somebody left the house of Vento – those twins a look through his binoculars told him – entering a car and leaving.

But just as he had relaxed, the car did something unexpected, driving up a cliff almost out of his sight.

“Oh, so you are afraid we’ll ruin your little party Vento” he said, yet getting back in his car, hoping he could drive out of their field of sight before they’d spot him.

He waited after driving a few meters, now rough-and-ready hiding behind several olive – or any kind of small fruit – trees and dry bushes. It didn’t exactly lightened up his mood that he had to sacrifice his perfect observation spot, but it pissed him off that now he had to be even more careful to get down there once … once he had the opportunity to take care of Vento and O’Connel.

_Now we have to play hide and seek, sneaking up like a spy, don’t we Arthur._

His look crept to the glove compartment. Behind couriers was a gun hiding now, along with a pair of gloves. Just to be sure, he would get rid of it once he had done it, in case somebody would find their bodies. He had thought about using the old revolver but it would have only gotten in the way. The old revolver was an Enfield No. 2 Mark 1, Britain’s standard WW2 gun and an heirloom from his grandfather. Old, battered; unreliable and weak from the start. And he supposed his father’s ‘love’ had more to do with tradition or family pride than with connecting with his grandfather. Arthur knew almost nothing about this man except for his name – Harold Kirkland. His own father John Kirkland hadn’t like talking about him, had answered his son’s questions regarding his grandfather sparsely.

He shook his head – Enough thinking about his family, he had to get a job done here. He had to take two men out tonight to be finally at peace. To finally, _finally_ get a rest from this hot water called Europe.

O’Connel and McAlistair couldn’t stop getting on his nerves, the Bonnefoy-Vento affair a few years ago had tested his young career to an extent which he definitely did not want to relive now. No more Sicilians in his part of Europe. And no more troublemaker on his isles. McAlistair wouldn’t be able to hold all of Ireland alone either before those damn buggers could reform. But the Welshman …

“Goddammit Arthur, pull yourself together” he growled at himself, getting out of the car again. He could go back to planning all of this once they were dead – like they should be already. Sleeping with the fishes. Being six feet underground. _Having met a sticky end._

More euphemisms ran through his head while he watched the twins on the cliff, but nothing unordinary; just a lonely red Mito. So he focused on Vento’s house again and there he was. O’Connel, standing in front of the gate, shouting something. Vento coming over, then hurrying back inside. He came back and unlocked the gate, letting the other in and it took them yet another minute to go inside.

Now Arthur had to wait. He didn’t know for what exactly but he would know a chance when it showed itself and he would take it. His eyes wandered back to the glove compartment.

_Ready for a Rendezvous with death, you bastards?_


	14. Explosive Chemistry

_You wanted to do this to distract yourself, didn’t you?_ Paddy thought, amused in an almost mean way by the spaced out look of the younger one.

“Charlie?” he asked and the other turned his head quickly to him:

“Hm?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Ah” he said looking at the cards in his hands, then to the ones on the table before his eyes went up to Paddy again: “What am I ought to do now again?”

And he let his head sink like an embarrassed child when the older man started to laugh.

“Sorry” he gave back but Paddy continued to chuckle:

“Don’t be, Blind Don just wasn’t a good idea for distraction, eh?”

Charlie flashed a bright smile but the eyes looked as tired as before:

“Distraction? From what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, whatever is brooding in that messy head of yours” Paddy gave back, collecting the cards.

“What should be brooding in there?” Charlie asked, handing him the cards he held and the other shrugged:

“I don’t know but you really do seem occupied by something else. And tired.”

“Didn’t you know it’s fashionable now to have dark circles down to the knee” Charlie muttered, the other only sighing and it got quiet in the room. Unlike it was in Charlie’s head.

_If you don’t stop goofing around, then, yes, then one day it’ll be too late, it’ll come back to bite you in the arse, one day it will have consequences, one day you are playing the knight of ethics and morals in shiny armour and you’ll fall down, deep, and break every bone. Or you’ll get every bone broken, every last one because you were so high up on your damn horse you didn’t notice anything else, one day somebody will come and make you pay -_

“Do you want to talk about it?”

This time Charlie cringed, almost jolted before he looked at Paddy, who just smiled friendly at him. He looked so different, but Charlie couldn’t grasp why. Maybe it was the grey streaks he noticed in his hair or how grey the scruff on his face looked? The countless wrinkles around his eyes? He looked so old, but he did always, it couldn’t be it --

“Charlie?”

“It’s nothing of importance, I’m just…” he started before sighing exasperated. “I am just thinking about yesterday.”

“And what’s the part of yesterday you’re caught up on?”

“Me” Charlie answered in the same tone, angry with himself and rubbed his temples. But when he heard the other’s answer, he had to stare back with surprise:

“Still?”

“Still, what do you mean still –“ he started but Paddy waved his hand:

“You stood there like a pillar of salt after Robert blamed you, didn’t you think I would count one and one together?”

“But he was right –“

“He lied. He lied for whatever reason, he just wanted to worry you.”

“I don’t care why he said it, he was right!” Charlie bellowed, out of nowhere and for a second he worried.

_Not in that tone, Charlie. Don’t be such a bitch towards your own father. This discussion is over._

“Right with what, Charlie?” Paddy however asked, still calm and without any sort of resentfulness in his voice.

Its sound made the one of his father vanish.

“That I did unnecessary things and took time I didn’t have …” he carried on and swallowed, leaning back on the couch: “You’ve got to understand, I am just … I talk too much and don’t do enough at times, whenever it is important.”

“You do talk a lot, that’s undeniable.” Paddy’s answer made Charlie cringe, like a short stab to the heart but he relaxed when the other carried on: “But you did exactly the right thing last night. Who knows, maybe I delayed it more than you with taking that stupid laptop? Or the other two with taking the knives? In fact, it was the best to take the chance and get Robert out of the way. You did nothing wrong.”

“And what is about the salt pillar? Paddy, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you wouldn’t have gotten me out of this! And this” he had pulled something out of his pocket, slamming it onto the table; it was the handle of the ballistic knife from yesterday. “This was total bullshit as well! This stupid … prank, this – “

“You would have snapped out of it yourself!” Paddy said harshly, putting the cards he had been fondled with over the last minute on the table. “Charlie, you are crying over spilt milk. Pray tell me why.”

“Because it could’ve killed Harry” he said, almost choked out. “Because I could have fucked up big time and get my best friend killed. All because I let the words of a bully get too close to me. You know, that’s why I was tossing and turning last night because the more I thought about it the more stupid it became. I am 25, I should really be above letting words affect me and I just – “

He took a deep breath, gesturing with his hands but only ending it with a shake of his head:

“I thought I would be through with this.”

“With words getting to you?” Paddy had cocked an eyebrow. “This will never stop, no matter how old you get. It’ll always hurt you, it’ll always affect you in some way. I think you already learnt to handle it pretty well throughout school, though.”

“You think so, huh?” Charlie asked, wanting to cry but no water gathered in his eyes. “Then how do you explain the salt pillar?”

“You are really hung up on this, aren’t you?”

“Paddy, I wasn’t able to move, I just stood there and gaped – See, that’s another thing that haunted my dreams last night, this wanker’s face. He looked so goddamn spooky and by that I don’t mean his general ugliness!”

The last comment made Paddy crack up, which, in return, made Charlie smile. He felt as if this man’s voice could make everything okay; at least could _assure_ you that everything _would_ be okay.

“Stress situation and hitting the nail on the head – for you at least. You have been worried that would’ve screwed up and that is what he told you. And you believed him. That was the only mistake you made” the older one then explained.

_Of course. It was all so simple. And me Idiot fell for it. Great job, Charlie._

Charlie just wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

“You heard what you wanted and you wanted to hear that you fucked up. But that will change, because, with the time, your survival instinct will roar louder than your self-doubt. It’s sink or swim and you’re swimming with sharks in this world.”

“I’ve been flailing my arms around for the past four years, old man” Charlie said, voice hoarse as if he was frightened by something terrible. “I am not swimming, I am not even trying to, apparently. Otherwise we wouldn’t have this conversation. Otherwise I wouldn’t have nightmares.”

Paddy’s lips twitched into a small smile, almost amused. _Almost._

“It takes time, Charlie. You, for example, also don’t have to worry about it 24/7. You go home, you close the door of your flat behind you and you leave this world. No, actually you’re carefree the minute you walk out of the office or you’ll complete a mission. Don’t take it as criticism, I just want to say that it is normal for you to act like this. I’ve heard my first bullets when I was seven; I grew up in a civil war. My mother was afraid that her son wouldn’t come tonight whenever she heard of another car bomb in the radio. And she and my father told me a thousand times what to do if I’d get robbed or threatened or encounter a terrorist. My voice of self-preservation got fed very early and it affected almost every part of my life. And you will learn it with time, too – To not only rely on your instincts when you’re at the risk of your life but whenever it could get you or somebody else at the verge of death. You’ll learn how to swim faster than you think; You’ll learn that instead of saying ‘I can’t’ you only need to say ‘Doesn’t matter if I can or cannot. I have to so we’ll find out.’ And I’ll be here to help you with it.” The smile now was genuine: “I promised to keep you safe after all, this includes teaching you how to do it yourself.”

“Thank you, old man” Charlie said, burying his face in his hand, exhaling deeply.

“And Charlie? The nightmares will never stop. No matter what you do; they are one of the many prices we pay. But I can lend you my shoulder if you want to cry about them.”

He patted his own shoulder, the sound of flesh on flesh resounding loudly despite the shirt he wore.

“It’s a really broad shoulder, it can carry a heavy burden.”

Charlie looked up and smiled, first tiredly and fake again but it grew wider. Batting his eyelashes, he drove the tears in his eyes away.

“Thank you, old man. Thank you a lot. I think … I think I will be able to manage this.”

“The thing that can keep Charlie Higgins from standing back up once he gets beaten down has to be yet invented, I believe” Paddy said, coaxing a cocky grin out of Charlie.

The younger Irishman tugged on his shirt, leaning back and putting his arms on the backrest:

“What can I say? In the end I am unbeatable.”

“Except for Blind Don it seems.”

“Did I just hear a challenge?”

“Do you want me to explain it and try it once more?”

“It’s better than sitting around and twiddling my thumbs, so bring it on!”

While Paddy mixed the cards up again, putting the ones aside they wouldn’t need, Charlie looked around the room. In the end, his eyes went back to the handle, reminding him of something else:

“How do you think Frecky’s date is going?”

“It is not a date, Charlie” Paddy buzzed back but Charlie held his hand up:

“Ah, let me get you up to said date, old man – he said himself it is one. Well, kind of a date. Half a date. Whatever, he did say that it wasn’t business only.”  
Paddy frowned and stared at him for a few seconds before buzzing out a “Well then, I hope he’s doing well and gets stuff done” before going back to sorting cards.

“And gets some reasonable sized portions of food” he added grumpily, making Charlie throw his head back and laugh:

“You will not get over this, will you?”

“If Vento wanted to lure us into liking him, he fucked up, I tell you. My sympathy is won with a hotel restaurant that serves my kind of food size. I hate fancy places, I tell you.”  
Charlie snorted again:

“Yes, you do tell me … and did during dinner. But how about I tell _you_ we can just look for one of those fast food places? They are usually still open around this time and offer good ol’ pizza as much as you want. Or do you wish to complain some more?”

Paddy didn’t face him, just looked down at the table until he answered:

“Can’t win Blind Don on an unsatisfied stomach, let’s go.”

Charlie grinned again but said nothing, picking the handle up and spun it between his fingers:

“And who knows, maybe Vento told his right hands to keep an eye on us? Maybe we’ll run into the Bontades and can give them back their knife handle? Maybe they’ll express a little gratitude? ~”

“You are silly” was Paddy’s only comment while he got up and Charlie shrugged after he let the knife handle slide into his pocket:

“A man can dream, can’t he? Dream that life could be a Z-Class Porno. Well, the plan fails anyways since I am no builder or delivery guy but maybe …”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so caught up in naughty fantasies and grab your key so we can go. Also, leave the handle here, maybe they didn’t even get the knife out of the wall?” Paddy said, standing behind Charlie now.

“Why shouldn’t they, they managed to get it out all the times before.”

“Before it was stuck in Cameras, not concrete, Charlie, try to –“

“Wait” Charlie interrupted him, a thoughtful, almost worried look on his face as he looked upwards at him. “Why didn’t he grab the knife?”

“Who?”

“Robert. It was right within his reach once he was standing, why didn’t he took the opportunity?”

The slap Paddy gave him to the side of his head was gentle, not intended to hurt him, but made Charlie worry about his hair immediately.

“What do you care for this deadhead, Charlie? It’s over, he is eventually in a hospital, you will not care about such irrelevant stuff now! Jesus, just go back to dreaming of getting laid and pizza. Grab your keys, lad.”

“I just _wondered_ , okay? But Aye Aye Captain, Pizza it is!” Charlie replied and got up, grabbing the keys from the bed before he frowned and turn around:

“Wait.”

“Charlie, I am hungry – “

“Did you want to imply that there will be Pizza when I get laid? We are still speaking of Italians here. Sicilians. A threesome and Pizza?”

Paddy stared at him in horror, sheer bafflement and disapproval for a few seconds before he turned around and opened the door:

“I’ll be on my way for pizza, you can see for yourself.”

“Pizza and a threesome, Paddy! _Pizza! Threesome! Sex with sweet southerners! **Involving Pizza!**_ ”

“Yes, Pizza! Move your arse a bit faster, Charlie and don’t yell like that in the hotel corridor!”

“Well, you were yelling, too!”

“But I didn’t yell sex all down the corridor!”

Two people lurked around the corner, watching the strange duo leaving towards the elevator.

“Do you think we should report that to the executive suite?” Jones asked.

“Better … better not. We’ll just … leave them alone” Taylor sighed.  
  


* * *

 

“Want to silence the Irish lamb?” Harry asked but Michele only smiled cockily, looking at him from the corner of his eye as walked into the kitchen again:

“I thought more of eating you out.”

That answer left Harry stunned, fumbling with his collar.

“To hell with subtlety, huh?” he muttered to himself before the other called:

“Would you like water or something else?”

“Water’s fine” he answered, tapping his fingers on the table.

What should they even talk about? What did he want to achieve here?

_I think I like you more than I should; I think I have a crush on you; I am pretty sure I am attracted to you; Would you give me a chance?; Would you like to date me?_

His mind hadn’t slowed down when Michele came back, putting down another plate and a glass of water in front of him as well as a napkin. As his eyes went to the dessert, his thoughts were finally swiped away by a new one:

_How am I supposed to eat this?_

‘This’ were two fried dough rolls filled with whipped cream or something along the lines of it, half a cherry at both ends.

“What’s the matter?” the other asked and when Harry looked at him, his unspoken question was answered; Michele had wrapped the napkin around one of his and was just about to bite into one end.

“Nothing” he replied, quickly doing the same with his. The taste was sweet but not disgustingly sweet. The fried dough, the cream cheese, even the sugar cherry blended in perfectly with the rest. The only problem was the eating itself because whenever he took a bite it was pushing the cheese out on the other side.

At least it was amusing his dinner partner. _Bastard_ , Harry thought and looked grimly over to the chuckling Sicilian:

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing” he replied. “But maybe I should’ve told you that it is easier if you eat from both sides – It saves you that mess you have there right now.”

“Well, thanks for telling me _now_ ” he gave back just as grimly as his look and Michele just smiled a little spitefully:

“You still got one left.”

They didn’t spoke any more until both of their plates were empty, Harry feeling as full and satisfied like he hadn’t felt for a while.

“So, Harry … Do you have something you’d like to talk with me about?” Michele asked and Harry could feel his heart speed up. He had to force himself to look at the other as well:

“If I may be honest … yes.”

Then he leant back, hands folded over his stomach: “On the other hand, I am feeling way too lazy for anything.”

It was obviously written in Michele’s face that he tried to hold a laugh back before clearing his throat and smiling:

“How about we walk it off with a stroll? That helps in most cases and I heard conversation is easier when you walk.”

Harry thought about it for a while but came to the conclusion that if Michele hadn’t tried to kill him so far he wouldn’t try it now.

“Is it safe out there?” he asked and Michele rubbed the back of his other hand:

“Worried about Arthur? I made sure he doesn’t interfere, but if you want me to check, I can do so.”

“How?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow and Michele just smiled mysteriously:

“Do you think I wouldn’t have my eyes and ears everywhere in my own territory?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and Harry regretted what he did next the second he had done it:

“Oh, so that was a phone, I thought you were just happy to see me.”

Michele stared at him for a second before he snickered and went back to his phone:

“No, just a phone, Harry …”

He started to tap his fingers again, closely listening as somebody answered the call Michele had put on speaker:

“Che Michele?”

“How is it going? Signore O’Connel here is a little worried that somebody might interrupt our dinner.”

“Oh, is he?” Whoever it was of the two, he sounded ticked off.

“He can hear you, Lorenzo.”

There was an audible sigh before the other carried on: “Everything is alright here, not a single trace of an Englishman or anything else around the house.”

There was something in the background, somebody else saying something, but they couldn’t make out what was said.

“Well then. Are you feeling safer now?” Michele said and Harry smiled faintly:

“Depends. They won’t assassinate me without your permission, right?”

“They wouldn’t dare” Michele gave back while Lorenzo just replied with a short “No.”

“And you wouldn’t give them permission, would you?” Harry asked and Michele frowned offended, ending the call with a “Keep up the good work” before he addressed Harry:

“Would you please stop acting as if I’d want to get rid of you by hook or by crook? The joke’s not that funny.”

“Apparently, since none of us laughed” the Irish gave back tiredly, looking at the table after it.

“It wasn’t much of a joke in first place, now was it?”

Harry didn’t want to answer and instead kept staring at the table, one hand on it and wanting to tap his fingers again so badly.

“Harry, I barely know you” Michele started again. “I have not harmed you in any way over the last days. Or, well – “

“Or well?” Harry interrupted him, almost glaring at him yet his look had something questioning as well.

“I have not hurt you. However, I invaded your personal space and I am still terrible sorry. I should have known better than letting my … “

“Drives take control?” Harry tried to help out, still sounding a bit resentful. But the kind, this time even embarrassed and apologetic smile on Michele’s fade let that resentment fade.

“Letting my curiosity get the best of me. Or my fascination, I really don’t know how to describe my feelings for you. And last night, in that box, there was also the fact that we could have died. I didn’t want to waste any chances. And the thing when you wanted to look in my kitchen? I don’t like it when people put their nose into my cooking.”

He had started to pick at the skin at the back of his hand now: “Which is still idiotic and not even a good explanation, but it is all that I can say.”

He looked at Harry: “That and that I regret it a lot as well as that it’ll not happen again, I promise. Keeping my fingers by myself now unless permission is granted.”

_I didn’t even mind it in the box_ had been Harry’s first thought. _You can get permission all you want if you meant that sorry seriously_ had then followed and he fumbled with his collar again.

“I’m feeling a bit restless; I think we should carry that conversation on during our walk” Harry said, loosening his tie a bit, cursing him for putting it on in first place.

“Lovely idea. Do you want to get rid of your tie?” Michele asked, the other answering “Yes please” without hesitation but stopped when Michele added: “Want me to take it off for you?”

It was just a silly flirt, of course it was. Otherwise he wouldn’t have cocked an eyebrow when Harry said “Sure darling.”

He let go of his tie and stood up to grant Michele coming over to him a better access.

“It looks very good on you though” the Sicilian said while hooking his fingers under the knot. They felt pleasantly warm and soft on Harry’s skin, the fingernails weren’t scratching when he pulled it away. He could still feel the heat of the other’s body when he untucked it from the waistcoat, the Irish being sure Michele made as much contact as he could on purpose.

Harry could still hear his heart beat thumping in his ears when Michele put the tie on the table; it almost skipped a beat when the other turned to him with a smile:

“Ready to go?”

“Always” he answered and followed Michele to the door, cringing slightly when the cold air from outside hit him.

“Want a jacket?” the other asked but Harry shook his head:

“Survived worse without.”

“It’d still be a pity if you’d catch a cold.”

“I haven’t caught one yesterday, I will not catch one now” Harry replied and went out of the door, Michele chuckling before quickly catching up with him.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked and Michele shrugged:

“What do you think of a trip around the coast? The sunset will look nice from there.”

Harry kept the _As long as I will not be pushed from any cliffs_ to himself and instead simply nodded.

After they left the property and crossed the street, Michele started to talk again:

“So … do you want to go back to our conversation?”

Harry bit his lip before smiling faintly: “Sure. I’d like to ask you what you meant with fascination.”

The dry earth and grass crunched under their feet as they went further along, Michele laughing almost embarrassed and gesturing with his hands:

“This will sound so weird.”

“That’s what love and the like usually is.”

He laughed again and Harry wanted to listen to that rich and freed laughter for hours. It didn’t sound as smooth as one expected from his voice but it sounded so happy.

“True that” Michele grinned before sighing: “Alright. Fascination you asked. Maybe it is just the hugest crush I ever had on somebody, but those aren’t exclusive, are they now?

“Anyways, let get things clear right here and now then: I like the way you look, sexual attraction is definitely present.”

He paused and looked at Harry who looked back a bit clueless:

“What reaction are you hoping to get …?”

“Oh, nothing, some people are just uncomfortable with that kind of stuff.”

“I am not that prude” he said, adding “How could I be else friends with Charlie” way more quietly. Michele pursed his lips but relaxed again within a second.

“They can be different reasons but since you are fine with it, let’s move on. I like your temperament, I like how much willpower you have. Somebody who knows what he wants is definitely attractive and you … I have only scratched the surface but I sense so much more. I think you’re humorous and kind and I enjoy your company a lot.”

He kept silent for a while and Harry once more paid attention to the sea stretching along the horizon. The sun had started to set just this minute, bathing everything in golden light.

“That is all I have for now. It’s not much, but it has only been three days anyways.”

“Exactly” Harry agreed and Michele chuckled. His chuckle was way more like his voice in general and somehow Harry doubted it was the wind that sent a shiver down his spine. Wind usually didn’t make you shiver in a pleasant way.

“But it was enough time for you making me so interested that I am dying to know more. That’s pretty unusual.”

“Should I feel flattered?” Harry asked, grinning at him and Michele only smirked back:

“Please do.” Then he shrugged: “My point of view. Do you want to tell me something too, Harry?”

_Here I go._

He cleared his throat and slowed his steps, looking at Michele:

“I first should say that before I met you I really thought I was straight.”

Michele chuckled again and Harry looked at the ground, biting his lip.

“Well, there is a first time for everything” he said, Michele smiling:

“You’re right. Sometimes a single thing can change your mind.”

“You said it. So, I have to say that I think you, too, are pretty … handsome. And especially tonight I noticed that … well, I like you. You seem really nice and I don’t mind your company at all at this point as well.”

He sighed, looking upwards before turning to Michele: “And I liked the kiss.”

Michele gasped as if he just got something off his chest.

“Thank god” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you just kissed back because of a panic reaction or because you actually wanted to kiss me.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing his eyes once he was done.

“Dear Lord” he chuckled and Michele frowned with a smile:

“What’s so funny, bello?”

The Irish slapped his arm gently with the back of his hand: “It’s nothing, you are just so damn worried about little things.”

“Is a kiss a little thing?” Michele asked, making Harry tilt his head. It took him a little to come to an answer:

“Fair enough, it can be a big one, too.”

They didn’t talk for a while, just kept walking until they reached the end of the cliff. Harry dared to lean forward, but downwards was only beach; the waves didn’t crash against the shore, making foam splashing and dancing on top.

_No unicorns in sight here._

He had to grin at the memory running through his head, at the mere thought of Sophie, happy and well at home, when Michele asked:

“So I like you and you like me. What should we do now?”  
Harry took a deep breath and turned back to him: “It’s way too early to start dating, isn’t it?”

“Would you like to date me?”

“It’d be stupid to not give the man a chance who made me realize that I am not straight.”

“But you think it is too early.”

“Don’t you too?”

“It’d be too early to start a relationship. But dating? Going out and getting to know each other …”

Michele had come closer, Harry noticed.

“Finding out with what we two are comfortable … Dating sounds just perfect to me.”

Harry only shrugged, smiling at him: “If you say so. I will admit it right here and now, the only two girls I ever seriously dated were friends of mine. I am not a romance expert.”

Michele took another step towards him: “Never had any girls fawning over you?”

Harry grinned: “Not if they stayed as long in the pub as I did on the same evening.”

Michele laughed again, making Harry’s grin spread further across his face.

“They really missed out on the wonderful man you’re sober” he then said and Harry rolled his eyes:

“Will you keep that sweet-talk up?”

“You’ll have to bear it a little longer if you want to date me” he answered and Harry sighed.

“I’ll survive it” he gave back.

“Was that a Yes I’ll date you?”

“No, I am sorry Michele, I’d like to give you a written answer, signed and with a copy for myself” he gave back and Michele pouted, leaning in to him:

“I am sorry if I don’t want to rely on what I read between the lines when it is so important.”

“Yes, I want to date you, Michele Vento. Do you still need me to sign anything for that?” he asked, making Michele chuckle.

“No” the Sicilian answered. “But if you want to we can seal the ‘deal’ with a kiss.”

Harry’s heart thudded like it wanted to jump out of his chest, his fingers didn’t know what to hold on to.

Michele was maybe 10 inches, eventually less, away from him. And he looked good, so damn attractive in the low light the sun casted. It was so …

“Did you plan this? A fucking cliché kiss during sunset?” Harry asked hurriedly and Michele chuckled.

“I didn’t but now you pointed it out – it seems convenient. A cliché ending for your cliché story. And a so much nicer one than dying in a box.”

“I’ll take the crappy gangster story over a 1,50€ romance novelette any day” Harry answered, having to join when Michele burst in laughter.

“You are ruining the moment” the Sicilian giggled, opening his arms: “Do you want a kiss or not?!”

“Oh, I am trembling with desire, Casanova!” Harry cackled, paralyzed when Michele took one quick step towards him, grabbed his head and pulled him into a kiss.

He couldn’t manage to close his eyes, trembling when Michele’s lips softly pressed against his. It felt like the last time and yet so much better, so much more intense. Michele’s hands were warm, his eyes were closed and he looked relaxed.

Instincts took over; Harry closed his eyes as well, put his hands on Michele’s and tilted his head, returning the pressure on his lips.

The Sicilian’s hands slid upwards, fingers slightly bending, wanting to dig into the ginger hair -

Michele broke the kiss and pulled away, Harry dropping his hands as well.

“How was it?” he whispered, still cupping Harry’s face with his right hand. “Did you like it?”

“More” was Harry’s only answer, his hand going back to Michele’s, turning his head to kiss his palm. “More kisses” he whispered.

“Oh bloody hell!” The well-known voice coming from behind a tree to their left made both of them jump.

And the click of a gun didn’t help relaxing at all.

“I’d say go and get a room” Arthur started when he stepped into their field of sight, the gun in his hands pointed at them. “But that won’t be necessary anymore.”

He looked messy – His hair, his clothes, even the leather gloves on his hand looked sweaty and crunched up.

“How did you get here?” Michele asked. His tone was far from the friendly, playful one he had spoken in the last time they met Arthur.

“Doesn’t matter. But if you really want to know – crawled through dirt and bushes to hide from the eyes of those little boys of yours. I’d never thought I would have to get my hands _that_ dirty when it comes to _you_. And you stay there” he said to Harry who had leaped forward into his direction.

“Coward” Harry growled and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“What do you want me to do, taking chances? Should I take my glove off and challenge you to a duel? Not that I would mind the part of slapping you across the face, but it’s not the time to play white knight in this business. It never is. And how do they say? It’s all fair in love and war.”

Arthur grinned but it didn’t seem genuine. Not that anything could ever look genuine for Harry when it came to Arthur Kirkland.

“All is fair in love and war” Michele gave back, still standing mostly with his back turned towards the Englishman. “If you quote then quote right.”

“Can’t be bothered to remember correctly something a Frenchman said” Arthur replied with a shrug. “Any last words from your side?”

“How about any last wishes for once?” Michele said, followed immediately by Harry’s: “Go back to where you came from, you bastard.”

“I didn’t plan on using that one way ticket to hell. It has your name on it anyways, O’Connel.” He bent the finger on the trigger: “And you are terrible late for your check in already.”

“I pass, but don’t you have a season ticket? I am sure they are waiting for their special guest already.”

Harry took another step forwards but Arthur hissed: “I told you to stay there. Can’t stop causing trouble, can you? That’s all you Irish ever did – Causing me one problem after another. But that’s over now. No Irish, no problems.”

“You will not fucking win this, Arthur.”

“Tell me how you want to stop me. You’re dead, your friends will follow. And do you think I haven’t gotten a plan for McAlistair? You’re the first clean job. No bloody revenge, just me finally having peace on those godforsaken Isles.”

Arthur looked tired. Less like a murderer but like somebody who had a really long day at work and was just doing his job. “And Vento? Even if I can’t get a hold of what used to be yours, the two Vargas will be there in a second and take it. You wanted to build up what your father ruined; you pushed your luck and lost. Happens to the best of us. Just like dying.”

“Dio mio, Arthur, just be a gentleman for once!” Michele complained, pulling Harry back. “Stop saying these nasty things and let us have one last kiss.”

“Michele, are you stupid – “

“Hush, bello, don’t spoil this.”

“It’s none of my business if you want to die tasteless while snogging but just get it on then” Arthur said impatiently. “Spares me a bullet anyways.”

Michele smiled kindly at him before he turned to Harry with the same smile. The Irishman couldn’t give him one back - His face had _murder_ written in it.

“You are stupid” he snarled but Michele put a finger on his lips.

Then he whispered “Duck” and threw himself at Harry as a gunshot fell.   
  


* * *

 

“Do you think Michele will be pissed cause we locked the gate?” Marco asked.

The wind blew through their hair and clothes.

“Nah” Lorenzo answered.

God, they _really_ hated waiting. And doing shit for people they didn’t like. And now they had to spend their time twiddling their thumbs just so Michele and that nasty idiot were safe.

“Do you think he’ll be successful with his plans?” Lorenzo asked back. Marco tilted his head, looking at sky.

“Yeah” he gave back and they sighed in unison.

“We’ll have to deal with that O’Connel more” Marco grumbled.

“We’ll have to see that Higgins again” Lorenzo moaned.

“And Michele will be all over that freckled dude!”

“Bleurgh!”

“Oh god, what if those eyebrows are actually small parasites!”

“And then they’ll crawl off at night and eat big brother’s brain!”

They both giggled, glad that they could; no Michele telling them not to be so rude in sight.

“He didn’t have any long lasting relationship when it came to the job anyways” Marco carried on, happier than before.

“Business partners, yeah, but lovers? The pink glasses will fade one day” Lorenzo agreed, grabbing the binocular to scan the area again. Still nothing special.

They were quiet again, Marco checking his rifle for the only god knew what time already when Lorenzo’s phone rang.

“Pronto?”

“Oi, Lorenzo, do you remember last year when you dared me to eat that family sized pizza all on my own and I couldn’t do it?” Alessia Yanni asked on the other end.

“Alessia, shouldn’t you be working?” Lorenzo asked smugly, almost hearing the young woman rolling her eyes at him:

“Guess what, bitch, I am. I am doing my work – Daniele, am I doing my work?”

The other’s voice was way quieter but still clear: “She is doing her work excellently if I am allowed to say so, Signore Bontade.”

“You heard that?”

“Laterza’s new, he’s just trying to flatter you” Lorenzo mocked her, snickering at her response:

“Either you stop being a little shit or I won’t tell you that awesome story I have.”

“Listening, bella.”

“So, we were keeping an eye on those Irishman, still are, and they went out. And I swear to god, that giant just terminated a family pizza. That man must have a black hole instead of a stomach! Also, I lost 30 euro and a drink to Daniele cause I said he wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Is that really why you called me?”

“Dude! This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever saw! Is our padrino gonna keep those guys? Cause he should!”

“We’ll see tonight” Lorenzo sighed amused, another call coming through. “I’ll have to hang up now, keep up the good work.”

“You bet your ass I will! Am I right Daniele?”

He ended the call before he could hear Laterza’s answer, switching to the next:

“Che Michele?”

“How is it going? Signore O’Connel here is a little worried that somebody might interrupt our dinner.”

“Oh, is he?” Lorenzo asked sarcastically.

“He can hear you, Lorenzo.”

He sighed deeply before pushing the dislike out of his voice as well as he could: “Everything is alright here, not a single trace of an Englishman or anything else around the house.”

“No need for him to worry his freckled ass off” Marco sneered, his brother nodding in approval.

“Well then. Are you feeling safer now?” Michele said and they could hear the Irishman:

“Depends. They won’t assassinate me without your permission, right?”

“No” Lorenzo said, hearing Michele saying “They wouldn’t dare.”

“And you wouldn’t give them permission, would you?” O’Connel’s voice was back and Michele only told Lorenzo “Keep up the good work” before hanging up.

“I think he’s pissed at O’Connel” Lorenzo said while putting his phone back into his pocket.

“Good” Marco said, checking his rifle again with a smile.

Just a few minutes later they saw Michele and the Irishman leave the house, heading towards the cliff across of them.

Lorenzo wanted to put the binoculars down already when he caught something else.

Somebody else.

He stared at the spot, wondering if he just saw a ghost when he the person appeared behind the bushes again.

“Damn it!” he cursed, making his brother looking alarmed at him. “How did that son of a bitch get here?! From where? Why didn’t I see him? _Why aren’t they seeing him?!_ ”

“Who?”

Lorenzo threw him the binoculars: “That Kirkland douche! Creeping in the bushes!”

“Aw fuck” Marco said. “Call Michele.”

“At it” Lorenzo replied, pressing the phone to his ear. One beep, a second of silence. Another one. Michele didn’t even seem to notice. A third one. Fourth. Fifth.

“Fuck your voicemail” Lorenzo growled at the mechanical voice, wanting to throw his phone far away.

“Do you think he left it at home?” Marco asked, eyes still on the other two.

“I am afraid he did, gimme the binoculars.”

Marco checked his rifle once again, but faster this time, aiming at where he thought Arthur would be.

“Should we shoot now?” he asked.

“Or should we wait?” his brother said.

“I can’t properly aim at him like this anyways, but if we wait – “

“He might take the chance. Warning shot?”

“Don’t think it’d be helpful.”

“I am calling him again.”

But Lorenzo’s second call was as successful as the first one.

“Michele you stupid bastard” he groaned frustrated, slamming the phone against his thigh.

“Great, hide behind a tree you fucking coward” Marco hissed beside him. He was lying on his belly, rifle steady on the ground and in both hands, one finger at the trigger.

Lorenzo looked again, now noticing the gun and gulped.

“Where are you going to shoot him?”

“Hands?”

“He has a gun.”

“I know.”

“And then you think hands are a good idea?”

“What about his legs?”

“He used to be an adventurer –“

“But then he took an arrow to the knee. Knee or foot sounds good.”

The binocular almost fell out of Lorenzo’s sweaty, cold hands, but he blamed that on the weather and the wind. He wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t upset, this was all over in a second -

_And either his or our gun will decide over that. Come on, admit it, you are more scared and pumped than a cornered rabbit. Scared little bunny! Scared little bunny! Scared little bunnies and no big brother you can run to!_

“There we go – Stop moving! Get your fucking ass out of the line!” Marco yelled, commenting on the actions across them:

Kirkland had left his hiding spot but just as he had stopped, O’Connel had jumped right in front of him, making it impossible for Marco to shoot the Englishman from this angle. He was already on his knees, ready to look for a better position when Lorenzo tugged at his sleeve: “Wait! Michele’s telling us to wait!”

Grinding his teeth, Marco laid back down: “I hope he knows what he is doing.”

“He’s tilting his head to that Irish … I think he wants to get him out of line. Yeah, pretty sure he wants to get his ass aside so you can shoot.”

“We don’t have much time but alright Michele“ Marco said, bending the finger at the trigger:

“And now have enough brains to stay fucking still, you leprechaun.”


	15. Picture Perfect

Harry had always thought he’d end up in hell. He was not good enough for heaven and the main part wasn’t even the job. He was somehow sure his dad was in heaven now. He was more than certain that Paddy would wind up there.

But it felt like heaven. Arthur crying out right after the gunshot and the only pain he felt was the dull pulsation in his bottom and the scraped elbows from his fall. He also fell on his back when Michele kissed him but no additional hurt here.

Or Michele’s lips were just a damn strong painkiller.

The Sicilian grinned at him afterwards and Harry was glad that he got off him the next second because he didn’t need him to know what that cat-like grin did to the Irish. He might not see the boner but feeling it was another thing.

“Now, Arthur, you won’t need this anymore” Harry heard the other say and immediately pushed himself upwards, taking a look at the scenery while he got on his feet.

Arthur was on his side, leaning on his elbow and gritting his teeth. Tears gathered in his eyes and he couldn’t stop pained whimpers escaping from his mouth every now and then as well as heavy breathing, the leg with the shot foot laid still while the other convulsed and wiggled. The gun was in front of him until Michele hunkered down to pick it up.

“You might hurt somebody and how terrible would that be?” he said and Harry couldn’t decide if the endless hate in Arthur’s or the sweet, sly victory in Michele’s face was nicer.

He wanted to take this moment and hang it framed on his bedroom wall.

“This is not over” Arthur hissed, causing the other’s smile to spread from ear to ear:

“Oh, really? Tell me, what’s the ace up your sleeve? You have gun proof shoes and are only playing along to please us?”

“That’s a very clever theory, give me the gun and let me test it” Harry said and the Sicilian laughed, locking the gun and shoving it in his pocket:

“Oh bello, you already have such impressive guns, handing you one more would be unfair” he purred, running his hands up and down Harry’s arms before he went to cup his face, pressing another kiss to the laughing mouth.

Harry replied to it and to the next one, letting his own tongue poke at Michele’s which had darted out to see if it would make the other open his mouth. Michele dug his fingers into the messy hair and Harry put his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

They would have gone on like this for forever probably, but of course the Englishman had to spoil the party again:

“If you plan to torture me … with your face sucking until I … I die of blood loss, then I would like to propose a last wish – shoot me in the … head or go get a bloody room.”

They ignored him and Harry instead pulled Michele as close as possible, hands crossed behind his back and lazily resting on his arse:

“Is this a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Arthur groaned and closed his eyes. Michele instead chuckled, fingers trailing from his chest to his belt buckle:

“Well, is that a phone in yours or are you just happy to see me?”

Arthur groaned even louder: “I hate you pretentious, nasty wankers.”

Harry put one hand away and pulled the phone out: “No, just a phone, Michele.”

“That is a pretty flat phone for what I felt” Michele whispered, brushing part of the Irish’s fringe out of his blushing face. “But actually, it is better than nothing. Could I have it for a second?”

“What do you want with it?”

“Take care of this kill joke here” he said, nodding towards Arthur. “The twins can take him to the hospital.”

“I see” Harry said, handing him the phone. He felt kind of disappointed when he turned away. He hadn’t noticed but he had missed being with somebody over the last years.

As he spoke Italian into the phone, the Irishman turned to Arthur. The blond had sat up but hadn’t moved the leg with the shot foot.

“Don’t look at me like that” he snarled at Harry who only grinned.

“Not like what?”

“You didn’t do anything. It was all Vento, so knock of that … condescending grin.”

Harry leant down to him: “How else should I get to your level if I don’t condescend? Look at you! Crawling in the mud because everything failed – I broke the box open, Charlie taught your bloody minion a lesson … And yes, Michele’s little helpers shot you in the foot.”

“They have a name, you two” Michele joined the conversation, getting a “Sorry” from Harry and a “As if I’d care” from Arthur.

“Oh, you should care Arthur, because they are so nice and will take you to the hospital. Be the gentleman you always say you are, will you?”

Arthur bit his tongue. “Of course. After all I _am_ one unlike you savages.”

“Savage yourself” Harry said, shoving the phone Michele had given him back in his pocket when they heard a car coming closer. The red Mito stopped seconds later a few metres away from him and the twins quickly got out.

“Alright, we are not gonna touch that” they said in unison with their eyes on Arthur and Harry had to snort, which made the Englishman interrupt his efforts to get on his feet on his own to glare at the Irishman.

“Marco, Lorenzo, please, a bit more professional” Michele said with a smug smile and they sighed, synchronously grabbing one arm each and pulling Arthur on his legs.

“Ouch!” Arthur cried out, gritting his teeth and glaring at them but they only rolled their eyes, one putting his arm around his neck.

“Oi” Harry said after they got him in the backseat, one already having opened the driver’s side.

“Thanks for saving my arse.”

“Well, it’s our job to look out for Michele” one of the twins said, the other only grumbling something and getting behind the wheel. “So we had to do something.”

“Still, this deserves a thank you.”

Harry didn’t know if it was on his own accord or if Michele had given him a look behind his back but after a few seconds the other said: “You’re welcome.”

Harry could see Arthur saying something but didn’t hear anything; same went for the other twin’s reply. He started the car and within a minute Harry saw it getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

“Well then!” Michele said, making him cringe, and stepped up to him. “Do you want to go back to your hotel or stay a little longer?” He rubbed over his arms: “Not here, of course. It can get pretty nippy once the sun went down.”

Harry looked at him for a bit and didn’t answer. Not that he had to think about it – He just really liked looking at the other.

“Didn’t you say something about a good bottle of wine?” he asked with a faint smile.

Michele cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head: “That would take quite a while if we don’t want to waste wine.” Harry grinned and he carried on: “And it is pretty late already.”

“I’ve been home later, trust me.”

“But not when you had to work the next day. Not when there was something important, right?”

“Michele, if you want me to stay for the night just say it” Harry said and the other smiled:

“Alright. Would you like to stay for the night?”

“I would like but there are several reasons why I can’t.”

“Really? Which ones?”

“Well, I have nothing to wear for tomorrow.”

“You can go back to the hotel before we meet – You’ll have to talk with the others before anyways, don’t you?”

“I have nothing to wear for the night.”

“I have a guestroom so if it is about me seeing you half naked, don’t worry, doesn’t have to happen. If you are royally uncomfortable sleeping in underwear I can even lend you something.”

“The others would be terribly worried.”

“Nothing a phone call couldn’t clear up.”

“I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

“After what we went through the last two days I really don’t think you can call _this_ trouble anymore.”

“I would have to endure Charlie pretending we did _it_ for quite some time.”

Michele laughed and shrugged then, shoulders still slightly shaking:

“Well, for that kind of problem I have no solution.”

Harry smiled again while looking at him.

_God, please stay like this, so sweet and kind. Moment, linger on …_

“I think I can live with it” he said. “May I take your hand?”

“Of course” Michele answered and with their fingers intertwined, they went back.

“I think I missed this” Harry said halfway to the property.

“Missed what?” Michele asked with a curious expression.

“This” the Irish answered, turning their hands upwards and kissing Michele’s knuckles. “Doing all this cheesy lover stuff.”

“Oh, so the big tough Irishman doesn’t mind clichés so much in the end?”

Harry grinned and kissed him on the lips: “It’s not cliché, it’s just really really cheesy.”

“Don’t you mean romantic then?” he asked.

“Eh, all the same” Harry answered and Michele chuckled again:

“No, it’s not.”

“Well, to me it is” he said impatiently and the Sicilian sighed:

“Either you just have no appreciation for the fine art of love or this is one of those nasty north European traits.”

“Ah yes, you southerners are all about _amore_ and living life full of heart” he gave back and Michele opened the gate with a small smile:

“ _Dolce vita_ is what we aim for.”

“Vita means life, right?”

“And dolce is sweet” Michele said, pulling Harry inside, close as if he wanted to kiss him, but instead just gazed at him. The Irish noticed the sparkle again.

“Like you” he said, poking his nose and Harry had to cackle, still grinning while Michele locked the gate. He gave the Irish another kiss once he was finished, his hands had starting to run up and down Harry’s arms again.

“Could it be that you really like my arms, Michele?” Harry asked and the Sicilian bit his lip, gaze at said arms:

“They are really nice looking arms … they are feeling good too … Bet they’d feel even better if there wasn’t a shirt on them.”

“Should I go Chippendales and rip my sleeves off?” Harry asked with a grin that almost went beyond his face when Michele laughed again.

“Oh hells yeah, please” he said then. “But let’s go inside first if you want to strip for me.”

“Of course” Harry said, following him to the door. While the other opened the door he turned around to take a look at the sky.

The sun still hadn’t set all the way, a small strip still visible over the cliff they had just left. Just two more minutes and it would disappear behind it, only dimly lighting his surroundings but still painting the sky red …

“Harry?”

He shook his head and turned to the other, following him inside.

“Go to the living room, I’ll get the wine. Living room’s there and _please_ don’t look into other rooms.”

Michele had opened the door opposite to the dining room as he said this, making sure Harry went inside before he left down the hall.

The living room was as big as the dining room, bigger even, and kept in brown, orange and golden colours. To his right was a huge, comfortable looking armchair, surrounded by three shelves going under the ceiling, in the corner opposite to him was a long sofa, one end pointed to his left, the other at the shelves.

And to his left was the same type of window he had already seen in the dining room; two more armchairs and a little table beneath it.

“Do you like the view?” Michele asked when he came back and Harry turned away from the window, sliding his phone back in his pocket after he had sent the others a message:

“The stuff outside or you?”

He noticed that he had gotten rid of the gun.

The Sicilian laughed and went over to him to place the bottle as well as two wineglasses on the table:

“Both.”

“My Sicilian surroundings are very beautiful, thank you” he answered and Michele kissed him. Once Harry closed his eyes he realised how tired he was. It was like all of the weight fell off, all of the adrenaline from before sunk at once.

“Michele, how about we kill the bottle some other time?” he whispered. “I’m really tired.”

“Of course, bello. Hopefully we will have plenty of occasions. Just wait, I’ll get the guest room ready.”

“Don’t bother” the Irish just said laconic, going straight to the sofa and falling face first on it.

“Gooood, I love your sofa” he moaned, Michele already laughing like a maniac, and Harry turned around.

“Yes, here I’ll stay, good night Michele.”

It took a couple more seconds, almost half a minute before Michele caught his breath:

“Harry don’t be silly.”

“You don’t have to make the bed, I don’t have to get up, everything is fine.”

He sat up and started to take his shoes off, Michele sitting down behind him with a frown on his face:

“You won’t sleep that well here.”

“Oh, trust me, I have slept well in worse places, it will make no difference where I sleep here” he answered, unbuttoning his waistcoat and putting it over the couch’s back rest. Leaning against Michele’s shoulder, his eyes shot up at the Sicilian: “Would you let me lie down?”

Michele just looked back at him, turning his head to kiss him on the hair. Then he grabbed his chin, pulling him back for a kiss on the lips.

And another one. And one more. The kisses were returned by Harry, open mouthed, tongues pushing at each other, sloppy and intense as Michele sucked and nibbled at his bottom lip.

“Sorry” Michele whispered into the silence after the last of the many kisses, placing a chaste one on the swollen lips. “But your face just looked … too adorable. Like begging for a kiss. And then I got carried away …”

“It’s fine, it’s just kisses after all” Harry whispered back, clearing his throat. “I am really tired though …”

“Do you want me to leave?”

The Irishman gave him an utterly confused look: “Well, I didn’t expect you to sleep on the couch anyways?”

Michele grinned: “And if I’d like to?”

“You won’t sleep well.”

The Sicilian’s hands went up his arms: “But when there’s no Harry in my bed I won’t sleep well either.” -

“In that case you can stay here …” Harry said with a smile, but added emphatically as the other took his shoes off: “And we’ll _sleep_ together. Nothing more.”

“Won’t go any further than those kisses unless you tell me to” Michele said, pushing his shoes aside and laying down on the couch. Head against the pillows, he opened his arms: “Come here, bello.”

Harry chuckled, crawling up to him and pressing one more kiss to his lips:

“Good night darling.”

“Buona notte tresoro.”

Harry turned around, back towards Michele. The pillows were fluffy and the sofa was fortunately upholstered with textile instead of leather. Just as he wanted to tell Michele that the arm in his neck was yet getting a bit uncomfortable, the other shifted, pulling his arm away and rubbing over his side with the other.

“You know what other part of your body is also exceptionally great?” he whispered and kissed Harry’s neck.

“Which one?” he asked back tiredly. The tiredness in his voice was gone when he had to yelp the next second.

Michele squeezed his arse once more, chuckling: “This one here.”

With another kiss on the neck, he withdrew his hand and put it around his waist: “Sleep well.”

“Michele, you touched the butt.”

The other snorted, shuffling even closer: “Should I have not? Didn’t saw a sign around here that said Don’t touch the artworks.”

Harry giggled, ending it with a noisy exhale as Michele pressed a few more kisses to his neck, then getting his face away from the back of his head.

Despite being tired as hell, Harry couldn’t fall asleep immediately.

Mindlessly, he put one hand on Michele’s to caress the back of it with his thumb.

_When was the last time I have spooned with somebody? Sure as hell forgot how nice it feels._   
  


* * *

The flat shoes hitting the tar wasn’t the only noise but the loudest in the small street.

Sophie hadn’t run until she turned into her street and saw her house.

In that moment something in her had sped up and her feet had almost started to move faster on their own accord, not caring if the shoulder bag was slamming against her hip and thighs or if the cable of her earphones swung wildly from left to right. Her feet just wanted to run and everything else had to adjust.

Pressing her bag to her side and putting her headphones into her trouser pocket, she came to a stop before the gate of the fence surrounding her house, panting heavily as she pressed down the handle.

After closing it, she turned around and looked at the house.

Nothing had changed at first glance. At a second glance … Perhaps the colour of the window frames was getting cracked. Maybe the ivy had grown even more in the little time she was away.

“Aww, come on, why do you look so old?” she said with a frown, walking the short cement path to the door, looking for the key in the mess inside of her bag.

After opening the door, she waited. The sounds of the city, cars passing the main road around her borough, birds singing, people talking, all of this melting into one big swoosh the further it was away, the low buzzing noise of a huge city.

From inside she couldn’t even hear the grandfather clock in the office upstairs.

_Nobody here to welcome me …_

“Hello Sophie!” somebody greeted her, one of her neighbours.

“Hello Alby!” she answered before closing the door as he continued on his way.

_That’s my job! It’s not me who needs to be welcomed!_

Dropping her bag on the floor, she went to the kitchen, first steps still hesitant as if she was waiting for something.

“Just a little hello though?” she muttered, looking around the room.

In the silence she heard the deep freezer buzzing in the storage.

“I always knew you loved me the most” Soph said, opening the storage door and patting the freezer before taking out one of the countless instant meals.

As it was turning in the microwave, she looked around. The kitchen was as clean as she had left it (which was only half-decent, but cleaner than it looked on other days the siblings were at home) and bored as she was, she looked into the rest of the rooms on ground level. All of them were in the same condition, but as she went around in the living room, she noticed the layer of dust on the fireplace.

The top of it was filled with picture frames of her family; pictures of herself, of her father, Harry, her mother Freya, Paddy and on some you could even find Charlie.

She brushed over the thick frame of one that kept four pictures. You could see Harry as a baby on all of them: In the hospital bed, sleeping on the couch together with Freya, in a buggy with Aaron behind him and on the knees of Charlie’s mother Gwendolyn.

As she rubbed the dust between her fingers, the microwave bleeped and after she started it again, she went to cupboard to go get a duster.

Whistling into the silence, she decided to turn on the stereo in the living room.

“And they say, she’s in the Class A Team, stuck in her daydream…”

Having been exposed to mostly ‘summer songs’ whenever she had turned on the radio over the last time, it surprised her to hear such a slow song.

“And they scream, the worst things in life come free to us” she started to sing along while grabbing the frames, starting with the biggest one in the last line. The textile went quickly over the glass, dusting off moments that in reality had gathered dust a long time ago.

Freya and Aaron on their wedding. Freya as a young woman, barely 18 years old. Her father around 20 years with a haircut and a moustache that made Soph snort whenever she had to look at it. Her parents on holidays in Greece. Aaron together with William McAlistair, family friend and, as she later found out, business partner of her father. The frame with Harry’s baby pictures. More of her brother, most pictures taken on some beach nearby but she couldn’t recall which one.

She loved the picture of him trying to eat a shell and she couldn’t even pinpoint why. Maybe because her mother looked at the sea, not paying attention to the boy on her arm – and her father had rather photographed his son trying to eat a shell instead of stopping him from gnawing on the hard, dirty thing.

She moved on to the frames in the next line.

Harry on his father’s shoulders. Harry and Gavin, William’s son, building something with branches, the Scottish boy grinning from ear to ear. She smiled and brushed his face gently with the duster before putting it back: “You haven’t changed at all, I believe.”

Freya together with Millie, Gavin’s mother, both woman laughing and wind blowing through the blonde and red hair. If there was one picture she liked the most of Freya, it was this one. Her mother, who she never met, didn’t look that strange to her on this picture. The pale face with red cheeks and nose and a laughing mouth made her look alive.

_You two are walking talking copies of Aaron with Freya’s freckles, but Harry got his mother’s nice facial features_ Soph remembered Gwen’s words.

She was right. Freya reminded her of Harry in this one.

“But lately, her face seems, slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries, they scream, the worst things in life come free to us …”

She put the picture back, moving on. Harry and Charlie playing football. Paddy and Aaron working in the front yard. Her mother planting some flowers together with Gwen, Harry curiously looking at their work. Paddy with the two boys on each arm, both of them holding a flower in a cup.

Freya and Aaron on the beach. Gavin and Harry building a sandcastle. Harry after his first day of school. Harry after his fifth day of school, totally exhausted and carried on Paddy’s shoulders. Harry doing homework. Aaron and Harry in the park, collecting autumn leaves. A very blurry picture of a squirrel. Harry and Paddy beside a snowman, both grinning from one ear to another. Freya reading a book. Aaron and Harry on a sledge. Harry and Charlie scrambling on the sledge, Aaron and Connor, Charlie’s father, talking in the background.

Harry dozing under a tree on a blanket with his mother. Freya knitting something, her belly already pretty round. Harry with the tiny jacket his mother had knitted. Freya and Paddy on a bench in the park, Harry chasing after a pigeon.

Sophie in the hospital bed. Aaron standing in the kitchen with his daughter. Sophie and Paddy sleeping on the couch. Harry sitting on the front porch, holding his sister, who was wearing the jacket from a few pictures ago.

Soph knew that that jacket still was somewhere. She wondered if it was safe where it was and not already eaten by moths.

Sophie’s christening. Sophie and Harry sitting on a blanket in the front yard, the little girl clutching at the sheep plushie her brother showed her. Sophie on Paddy’s arm in front of a sheep meadow, little hands reaching out to touch the animals. Harry and Sophie in the Zoo. Sophie reading something, the yak plushie from the zoo next to her. She still remembered how she had wandered off and had tried to climb into the yak compound on that trip to pet the “fluffy cows.” Mainly because it was one of those family anecdotes that never died.

Sophie on Harry’s arm, trying to climb on a tree with his help. Harry on his confirmation. Sophie on her communion, both pictures in the same frame.

She wiped a streak of hair out of her face as she put the pictures back. She knew the little girl with flowers in the long ginger hair and the gapes in the wide smile but it was hard to believe that it was her. Something had changed over the years and it wasn’t just the haircut and the permanent teeth.

The last picture was one of Freya and Harry again, a close up of their faces, Harry probably sitting on her lap.

As simple as this picture was, it confused Soph through its placement – completely out of line with the other pictures of her mother.

The bleep of the microwave jolted her out of her thoughts and the picture out of her hands. With the ugly sound of glass bursting, it hit the floor and Soph whispered “Fuck!” almost scared. Ignoring the microwaves continuous bleeping, she quickly hunkered down to pick it up.

The glass was still in the frame but cracked up to the point where you could barely see the picture behind it.

“Shit …” she cursed once more, biting her lip and running her hand through her hair.

She couldn’t just put it back and then simply tell Harry what happened.

_Not with mam’s picture._

She got up, laid it face down onto the fireplace’s top again and hurried down the corridor into the guest room. Over the last years that room had more and more turned into a second storage for things that didn’t fit behind in the one behind the kitchen or was simply not meant to be close to food.

She ripped open one of the drawers, knowing that it was the one for office supplies and the likes. Nothing in the first two drawers of the dresser, but she found several stuffed into one corner of the last one.

“Please fit” she whispered after having sorted out two that seemed to be the size of the old frame. Pressing them to her chest she walked back into the living room, putting them on the couch table before getting the picture and sitting down on the couch.

She shoved her fingernail under one of the metal brackets, grimacing in pain and pulling her finger back as it cut into the flesh. Trying another finger, she bit her lips but managed to open it. Same went for the other three brackets, tears in her eyes when she could finally remove the cardboard --

She paused.

Somebody had written on the back of the picture. At the first moment, the handwriting seemed unfamiliar and familiar at the same time and it took her a moment to figure out to who it belonged.

It was her father’s. Shaky as if he had written it in haste or not paying attention, but definitely the one of Aaron O’Connel.

She squinted at it, not able to make the words out immediately.

_Looking for …_

_a photo of us … for …_

_family picture …_

_nice frame…_

_Looking for a photo of us for family picture, nice frame._

The sentence made no sense to her. She didn’t even know what it was. Or who ‘us’ was. The ‘family’ stopped her whole process of thought. Why would her father write something on the back of _this_ photo?

_Oh._

She left the picture like it was on the couch table and went into the kitchen. She’d ask Harry or Paddy to help her with finding a good picture of her and her father. As well as a nice, big frame.  
  


* * *

  
The only thing that he needed now for the moment to be perfect would be rain pounding against the windows.

But of course the island had to keep him away from true happiness by inches, so he only heard the whizzing of the air conditioner whenever the songs in his headphones paused.

_So … so you think you can tell … Heaven from Hell, Blue skies from pain … Can you tell a green field … From a cold steel rail?_

He turned the next page around, having the words of it already memorized. The paperback was old and worn, had seen more places in the last 10 years than other people did in their whole life.

“’The devil’s agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?’ Oh, you bet your arse they are” Arthur grinned ironic and tiredly. “Every single last one of those bastards roaming the earth.”

His foot hurt, a dim pulsating under the cast around it, but he couldn’t get himself to care. Just wiggled his toes as he sang along quietly with the music.

“We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year … Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears, wish you were here.”

No, that part wasn’t true. He was glad he was alone, left with just enough energy to read a book he knew by heart and listen to songs he knew by heart and ignore the itching within the cast as well as possible.

That had been way different a few hours ago.

“Sir!”

Arthur had known how he had looked but it had surprised him nonetheless to see the shock in Tahir’s face when he came out of the operating theatre. He had grid his teeth:

“Where’s Bailey?”

“One last final check to decide if he could go tonight. He’ll be here soon, Sir.”

“Oh, going, good cue – Tell everyone else they are dismissed and should get back to England on the next bloody plane.”

“Work’s over here?” the Pakistani-Brit had asked and Arthur had turned away, lips having been pressed into a thin line before spitting out a “Yes. We three depart as soon as we can tomorrow. Now go and tell the others.”

“Are you sure you want me to leave for this, Sir?” Tahir had asked and Arthur’s expression had softened, even though he still had sounded grumpy:

“Just come back once you are done, Rashid.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Sheez, don’t treat me like a child, Tahir” he had sighed quietly after the Pakistani-Brit had been gone.

He had heard his other right hand before he entered the room. Somebody else having talked, words he hadn’t been able to make out, Bailey’s voice without having understood him as well. And then, after a few more words from the other person, the Englishman had been clear and loud:

“Little bastards!”

The door had been pushed open the next second, Robert having pulled a face that was sure not friendlier than Arthur’s.

“Little bastards indeed” Arthur had said. The other had grinned in response.

“All those small islands are full of sons of bitches or so it seems, Sir.”

“Seems so, doesn’t it?”

“Any plans for now, Sir?”

“We go back to England.”

He had seen Robert frown displeased and he had closed his eyes before having continued: “Then we recover and work a plan out to get back at them.”

Arthur had looked back up at the other: “Do you think you’re the only one here who really wants to strangle an Irishman, Robert?”

“Strangling is an excellent suggestion, Sir.”

“It’s simply the first that came to mind, to be honest.”

“I am sure I have some more.”

“Let me hear them then. The quicker they are the better.”

“Are you sure? I thought more of the more painful the better.”

“Drowning is painful as hell and see where it took us! No, I just want them be dead.”

“It was the staged drowning that took you two here” Tahir had interrupted, Robert having cringed and turned around:

“Jesus Christ Rashid, would you stop creeping up on me for _fuck’s_ sake?!”

“Well, it took you to hospital” he had said, having looked at the other at the corner from his eye, an unimpressed look on his face, before having spoken to Arthur again:

“Pulling a stunt like a single mission in the enemy’s territory is why you winded up here.”

“It’s not exactly like you stopped him, besides, my god what are you Rashid? Our mom?” Robert had given back, having earned a glare from Tahir who had sat down on the nearest chair:

“Sometimes I feel like the last sane person in this entire company – sanity and reason has nothing to do with mothering!”

“Good grief Tahir, you sound exactly like an upset mom” Arthur had said with a smile, having made Tahir twitch his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth while Robert had grinned from one ear to the other.

“Thank God that I know you are actually clever” the Pakistani-Brit had replied to Arthur, look then having shifted to Robert, whose grin had quickly faded: “And thank god you’re pretty.”

“ _Pretty?_ What do you think I am, a little girl with flowers in my hair? A vain poof like this bastard of an Irishman?”

“I’d say handsome, but your appeal is destroyed the moment you open your mouth. No, actually that beard of yours ruins it alone already.”

“Anything else you want to bitch about, sweetie?” Robert had growled and despite it sounding like a death threat, Tahir had chuckled at the last word. “Besides, what kind of explanation was that?! Pretty is just the girl word for handsome.”

“First of all, don’t assign genders to words, Robert” Tahir had said with a calm smile. “And if you ask me, pretty is very shallow compared to handsome. Handsome can only describe the looks, yes, but I think it also has to do a lot with posture and vibes one is giving off.”

“Enough of that, we can dispute over words and their meanings later” Arthur had interrupted them, just as Robert had stopped frowning and had opened his mouth to answer. “I think our topic was a 100 ways how to kill an Irishman?”

“You can’t discuss a _hundred_ ways how to get rid of them” Tahir had commented, eyes on his phone and both blonds had answered synchronously with the same deadpan face:

“You bet your arse we can.”

“101 – Luring you into the moor and making sure you wander off the safe tracks” Arthur grinned and closed the book.

Deep down, something was still rambling, deep down the anger over everything that had went wrong here hadn’t disappeared entirely yet.

But it was three in the morning. He had read Sherlock Holmes paperbacks for the last four hours. He had let British bands wash over him for the last four hours. And not even his cast itched enough to make him pissed at the Irish and Sicilian again.

He was not angry at anyone; just mildly displeased in what kind of world he had been thrusted into with this job.

His eyelids fell shut as one of the foreign bands on his phone started to play.

_Take away the sensation inside … bittersweet migraine in my head …_


	16. Epilogue

“The flight is boarding in 20 minutes” Paddy said and Harry put his head back, groaning:

“I know.”

“And the queue won’t get any shorter.”

He groaned “I knooow” again, head spinning around once more and resting on Michele’s shoulder, who only looked at him with an amused smile.

“You don’t really want to spend more time on uncomfortable airport chairs, bello” the Sicilian said.

“Oh yes, dying to sit in uncomfortable plane chairs” he grumbled but before Michele could whisper “Just say you don’t want to leave me”, Marco interrupted them:

“Oh yeah, flying fucking business class is totally uncomfortable.”

Lorenzo leant over as well to look at the Irish:

“Do you want to upgrade to first class and wait for the next flight?”

They both opened their mouths to speak in sync again, but Paddy beat them to it:

“Doesn’t make a difference. Even when the leg space fits, they still need to invent the seat that makes flying comfortable for me.”

Charlie, Michele and Harry chuckled, latter one then whispering to Michele:

“Why don’t they just say they don’t like us?”

“We thought you’d be clever enough to read between the lines” Marco said and Michele had to hold back his laughter while Harry sighed.

The look of the twins shifted to Charlie, darkening a notch when they saw him grin cockily.

“But some would probably not understand it if it was written on our foreheads in sharpie” Lorenzo added and Charlie sighed.

“I am getting negative vibes, but why?” he asked histrionically, both Paddy and Harry letting out an unbelieving laugh.

“Oh lad, you earned them, trust me” Paddy said.

“Are you really wondering? Was that a serious question?” Harry asked.

Charlie batted his eyelashes, let out a disappointed “Tsk” in best drama queen manner and got up, taking his suitcase:

“Let’s go, I can’t wait being stuck with the two of you for 7 hours.”

While the other two laughed and Michele grinned again, he turned to the twins:

“I really wouldn’t mind staying here instead.”

The Sicilians frowned, not able to decide what to do with that lovely smile before they concluded it was just another trick like the cocky grin and scowled at him.

“Well, then let’s get going and make sure we are no terrorists” Harry sighed, getting up and grabbing his suitcase, Paddy heaving himself out of the chair as well.

“Alright” Michele said, getting up and signalling the other two to do the same with a wave of his hand. “It was nice to do business with you, Signori.”

He held his hand out to Paddy, trying not to grimace due to the firm handshake:

“To good cooperation.”

“Looking forward to it” the older man said with a smile but his eyes made him seem more distant than before.

He moved on to Charlie, whose response had been friendlier – and off topic:

“Good luck cooperating with that frecklehead.”

Harry rammed his elbow in his side and he laughed while Michele managed to get out an “I think I’ll manage” with a smile.

Still grinning, Charlie turned to the twins.

“I know you two are not thinking highly of me –“

“No shit Sherlock” it came back in unison and the Irishman pouted before moving on:

“But I am very curious who of the two of you shot Arthur. It’s impressive to be that precise on that distance, I want to know who to congratulate on that.”

“Thank you” Lorenzo said and they shared a look.

“It was me, though” Marco got out at last.

“I see. May I know your first name then, Mister Bontade?”

“It’s Marco.”

He nodded: “Congratulations Marco Bontade, you are literally one of the most badass people I know.”

Marco’s “Thank you” didn’t sound as stilted as his brother’s. Charlie's voice had sounded way calmer and more honest than flirty. And it was really a lovely, small smile on that Irish’s face.

They both decided that scowling was no longer needed.

In the meanwhile Michele had turned to Harry who grinned ridiculously smug at him.

“I look forward to make this work with you” the Sicilian said, holding his hand out for the last time.

Harry grabbed his arm instead and pulled him into a kiss, Michele’s eyes wide open as if he was having heart attack.

“Harry, are you nuts?!” he said, quickly looking around to make sure nobody had seen this.

“What?” the Irish laughed. “ _You_ told me you were pretty much out of the closet. Besides, it’s an airport! Nobody knows you, Michele, nobody cares!”

“I – Yes - But - In public!” he said, gesturing with his hands and Charlie put a hand on Harry’s shoulder:

“Did you hear that? I think they said they close the check-in every minute, we should really get going.”

“Yeah, definitely” Harry said, turning around with his friend to head to the security clearance, Paddy only sighing but not able to supress a smile.

“Harry!” Michele called, head red, and hissing a “Quit grinning like idiots, you two!” at the twins who really tried their best to hold their laugh back, but Harry just waved at him:

“See you in Dublin in one week!”

“Just wait until I’m there, then you’ll get a taste of your own medicine!” Michele called back and Harry turned to look at him.

At first he looked still upset but that faded within two seconds; instead, there was this sweet and kind look on his face. He waved and Harry waved back one last time.

“How are we gonna explain Sophie that you are gay as hell?” Charlie asked, putting his suitcase on the conveyor belt behind Paddy’s.

“Hey Soph, I found a guy and have some news, I now identify as bisexual as hell” Harry gave back nonchalantly, waiting for a space for his suitcase.

“Succinct and straight to the point” Paddy said, lifting his arms as one of the security guards checked him. “What else would we need to say?”

“Nothing” the boys replied together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say thank you to the people who helped me with writing this thing. 
> 
> Thank you Leon for inventing Railey and being a little Charlie fanboy. You rock, dude. 
> 
> Thank you Lea for being a Railey fangirl and your enthusiastic talks about writing and my characters in general. Can't wait to read all of your stories!
> 
> Thank you Jani for putting up with my hobby, even though it was not easy at times and thank you for all the voicenotes squealing about SicIre. You are awesome as hell and I couldn't be prouder to be your beta-reader and ex-gf. 
> 
> Thank you Nora for creating Michele and letting me use him, letting me adopt him in the end [our babe]. Thanks for encouraging me, thanks for all the art, from the cover to Charlie being very gay AND european. Thank you for igniting the spark. Thank you for making me write this. You are one of the most precious people I know and I am so glad to call you my friend. 
> 
> See you next time!


End file.
